Fear Itself
by Vayluh Arwen
Summary: 'What's his name' 'Doctor Jonathan Crane.' A new hospital, a new doctor, and a new danger. Rebecca Wells has been thrown right into the deep end of the Narrows, and luck has chanced her with a very unique doctor. Arkham's dark secret is out. Batman c DC
1. Chapter 1: Transfer

_Author's Note:_

This is my first Batman fic, so try to be gentle in your massive criticisms :)

I had fun categorising this, as I didn't truly know whether it was based on the films or the comics. The easiest way to explain it is that I use the comics' ideas with Nolan's characters, ie, Crane is head of Arkham and not involved with Ra's Al Ghul in any way, but I see him in my mind as Cillian Murphy. This is the same with the Joker being played in my head by Heath Ledger. Arkham Asylum is located in the east end of the Narrows, between Midtown and Downtown - not an island, technically. It doesn't follow BB / TDK timeline, and other characters from the comics will make appearances as well.

Rated 'M' for bad language, horror, vivid scenes of rape, self-harm and/or suicide, religious confrontations, and character death. Sorry about that, but this _definitely_ isn't one for the kiddies.

I own nothing apart from my OCs. You'll recognise them, probably.

Hope you enjoy! :)

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Chapter 1: Transfer

_Friday, September 25__th__, 2009 - Trenton Psychiatric Hospital, Pennsylvania._

"Good morning, sweetheart!"

The insanely happy voice sliced through Rebecca's head, and she answered with a low growl, burying her head further into the sheets.

"Time for your medication, honey! Up you get!"

"Bite me."

"Now now, come along, now."

She groaned, and then, reluctantly, forced herself upright. She tried to focus for a second and then gave up, pressing her palms against her closed eyelids, seeing sparks.

"That's the spirit, here you are, darling."

Sweetheart, honey, darling... what was next, _babe_? Rebecca forced herself to concentrate, and the familiar grey tray was perched on the edge of her bed, with the even more annoyingly familiar nurse standing over her, smiling, brightly, "And how are you feeling today, Becky?"

She gritted her teeth, "I've told you. It's _Rebecca_." She glanced around her, "And _this_ god-awful hour sure as hell can't be called _'day'_."

She was being deliberately snarky, and she knew it. But, truth be told, she couldn't help it. This forever-smiling bitch seemed to bring out the crazy in her.

Nurse Cheerful's smile didn't flicker, "Your tablets, honey."

_Sweetheart, honey, darling, sweetheart, honey, darling, I am __**not**__ your fucking __**dog**__! For the love of sweet __**Jesus**__, woman, go get yourself fucked and stop hanging off of __**me**__!_

Rebecca suppressed the thought, easily. Her eyes moved around the small room, catching automatically onto the door, which was open, but locked with a sort of elastic bolt, leaving plenty of room to see light, but not enough for someone to escape through. This was a necessity for the staff more than it was for Rebecca - _no_-one wanted to be between her and a shut door.

A small shot of familiar disappointment slid through her as she saw the lock firmly in place. Damn. She kept praying that, one day, Nurse Whatever-Her-Name-Was would get sloppy. But not today, it seemed.

"Your _tablets_, Becky." She repeated, and this time a touch of warning echoed in her voice.

Rebecca rolled her eyes, playing for time. This wet thing in front of her did danger like a drug-crazed rhino did subtlety.

Her eyes moved onto the tray on her bed. She reached out, and took hold of the two cups - one containing water, the other containing two small, white tablets.

"Take them all, there's a good girl." The Nurse said again, tension flickering through her tone.

The 'girl' nodded, slowly, and knocked back the pills, followed closely by the small glass of water. She winced at the taste, as she always did, but she didn't complain. She always took her pills. Because if she didn't, she knew they would make her.

Why? Because the pills she was taking were Clozapine, and Rebecca Lauren Wells was a schizophrenic.

"Open."

Rebecca opened her mouth, obediently, lifting her tongue so the nurse could see she hadn't hidden the tablets underneath it. Not that that was likely. The foul taste would have made her spit it out in _seconds_.

The nurse gave a small, overly-cheery smile, "_There's_ a good girl."

Rebecca rolled her eyes again, but didn't comment.

"Now, you better get some rest. Big day tomorrow."

"Why, is it a Sunday?" she asked, sarcastically. Everyone knew she hated the night nurses and their chipper, happy-go-lucky attitude that matched the chirpy yellow walls, and she made no effort to counteract that image. A mental hospital like this had enough problems without trying to convince the patients they _wanted_ to be here.

"What, you don't know? Tomorrow is the twenty-sixth, Becky! The twenty-sixth of September!"

She raised a bored eyebrow, "And that's important _how_?"

She shook her head, incredulously, "It's your _transfer_ date!"

Oh. Of course. _Now_ she remembered. A couple of months ago, one of the nurses she could stand talking for more than five minutes without wanting to kill her had sat her down and told her about this other hospital. This other _bigger_ hospital, one down in Gotham. She'd seen Gotham once before, when she was younger, and had to admit she wasn't overly impressed. More than anything... it scared her.

But this hospital... apparently it was the best. Apparently there they'd be able to do more for her. Figure out the right medication; figure out a way to give her that few more precious hours of silence. Maybe figure out what was wrong with her. How to _fix_ her.

Like a fucking totalled car.

"Oh," she grunted, realising Nurse Whoever-The-Fuck-She-Was was waiting for a response, "Fantastic."

The nurse tutted at her from behind her clipboard, "What, you're not excited? Somewhere new, new people, new surroundings?"

She shrugged, indifferently, "Why should I care, it's just another locked room in another locked corridor. Doesn't make any difference to _me_."

"Now now, Becky, don't be like that. Don't you at least want to know your new Doctor's _name_?"

She looked at the nurse for a second, and then sighed, "Okay. Fine. What's the unlucky feller's name."

"Doctor Crane. Doctor Jonathan Crane."


	2. Chapter 2: Arkham Asylum

**Chapter 2: Arkham Asylum**

_Saturday, September 26__th__._

Arkham. The name was known everywhere. All over Gotham, all over New Jersey. The chill that went down the spines of many a child as their parents warned them of the dangers of crime, threatening them with a spell in Arkham when they misbehaved, like it was the new bogeyman. The effect of the name was probably similar to the effect the English used to get when someone mentioned 'Bedlam'. Arkham was, quite literally, hell.

Of course, as Rebecca had recently found out, Arkham Asylum wasn't actually _called_ Arkham Asylum. Its full name was 'The Elizabeth Arkham Asylum for the Criminally Insane'. A mouthful and a half, that one. So, to everyone who knew it, it was just Arkham. Kinda like Bedlam again, she supposed, that was something else, too. What was it, Bethlehem? Something like that.

"Rebecca? Are you alright?"

She glanced to her left, hesitantly. Nurse Werner looked back at her from the driver's seat of the car, her eyes concerned, checking her over.

She managed a tight nod, and, after a second, Werner gave a small smile, turning her attention back to the road. Rebecca let out a small sigh of relief. This was the reason she had been so glad this particular nurse had been chosen to escort her to Gotham, to the Narrows. She was smart, incisive, didn't ask too many questions, and, when she had to, always took her at her word.

Smart, smart nurse.

Rebecca was fidgeting. Picking at the cuticles on her thumbs. She didn't stop when blood trickled over her fingers. She pushed harder. They were driving slowly up to the huge entrance. There were inmates in the yard. They were playing soccer. Nearly all of them were men. Rebecca dug her nails deeper into her cuts.

"Rebecca. Did you take your pills today?"

She recognised the tone, and instantly fell into the cycle, "Yes."

She nodded, "Okay. How many?"

"Two."

"And they're twelve point two five milligrams, yes?"

"Yeah."

"So how many milligrams did you take?"

"Twenty-four point five."

"How many tablets do you take in a week?"

"Uh..." her eyes flickered. They were near the gate.

"Rebecca, answer me. How many tablets do you take in a week."

She forced her attention away from the looming gates and back onto the question, "Four a day. Four, eight, twelve, sixteen... twenty... twenty-four... twenty-eight. Twenty-eight."

"Okay. So how many milligrams is that?"

She shook her head, instantly, "That's too hard."

"No it isn't. Twenty eight times twelve point two five. Work it out."

"That's _too hard_."

"Then do an estimation."

"Okay." She thought about it for a second, "Three hundred and thirty-six milligrams."

"How did you get that?"

"I... rounded twelve point two five down to twelve. Twenty-eight times twelve. Ten twenty-eights are two-eighty, and two twenty-eights are fifty-six. Add that together is three-thirty-six."

"Good. That's good. Now, come on."

They had gotten out of the car. Rebecca hadn't noticed. They were standing in front of the entrance. 'The Elizabeth Arkham Asylum for the Criminally Insane' curled over the top of the large, double doors.

Rebecca glanced at Nurse Werner. The lady shook her head, taking hold of her arm, "As an estimation, how many milligrams of Clozapine do you take in a month?"

"Three-thirty-six..." her eyes flickered around the small reception area, her breathing harsh in her chest, "Six-seventy-two... thirteen-forty-four..." they moved in through one of the large doors, Werner holding it open for her. Her panic peaked and she tried to force herself to stay calm, "Twenty... twenty-one..."Then the door slammed shut behind them and all little control she had was lost.

* * *

Rebecca spun on her heel, darting towards the large black doors, but Werner took a firm step to her right, grabbing her by the shoulders, blocking her hasty exit, "It's fine."

She struggled, desperately, "I have to get out of here."

"It's _fine_, Rebecca. Rebecca, look at me. _Breathe_."

"Nurse, please, I can't -"

"_Breathe_, Rebecca."

Rebecca looked at her. She hesitated. Then she took in a long, deep breath, closing her eyes for a second. The hands on her shoulders immediately released - Werner knew she didn't like to be restrained. She felt some of the tension release.

Rebecca turned round before opening her eyes, not wanting her brain to be plagued with the image of the heavy, black, _shut_ doors again.

"That's it," Werner murmured in her ear, soothingly, "Well done. Come on, now. Let's go speak to the receptionist, yeah? That's right, one step at a time."

They moved towards the receptionist, a young, blonde woman who was watching her with the curiosity of a mid-life-crisis whore watching some Southern shit like 'The Real Desperate Housewives'. Rebecca relished the anger. Anything was better than the fear.

Werner took the first step, "I'm Nurse Werner from Trenton Psychiatric Hospital, we're here to see Doctor Crane, please."

"Patient name?" the woman asked, her eyes moving onto her.

"Rebecca Lauren Wells." Werner replied, promptly.

"Just a second..." finely manicured nails tapped irritatingly on the keyboard of the computer in front of her, "She's... not listed _here_..."

The nurse rolled her eyes, "Of _course_ she's not. She's still technically in Trenton. They probably haven't updated the system yet. You and I _both_ know what the paperwork's like in a psychiatric hospital. Now would you mind...?"

She nodded towards the inside door. The receptionist's brown eyes moved between the two women, and then she sighed, shaking her head and rising from her chair, "If you would have a seat..."

Werner nodded, and moved back, sitting down in a chair near the windows, where you could see the doors. Rebecca shot her a grateful glance, thanking her for the courtesy, and immediately turned her chair a little so she didn't even have to turn her head.

She watched the convicts playing soccer on the gravel pitch. Some were fairly good. Others were fairly vicious. All were clearly completely out of their minds.

**You should fit in well then.**

Rebecca flinched at the unwelcome voice, and subtly let her eyes move around the reception. It was empty. Oh great. They were starting up already. When was her next scheduled medication, nine? That was over three hours away. Too long. _Way_ too long.

_Calm it down, Rebecca. Just calm it down._

Was that _her_ talking or the voices? It didn't sound like either. Maybe it was Werner. Nope, her eyes were flickering around the otherwise empty room, her fingers tapping a light rhythm on her knee, her mind clearly somewhere else.

Rebecca shut her eyes tightly as the sides of her vision started to blur and twist into new, strange shapes. Her heart sped up and she held her breath, trying to calm it. The noise started again, one, low-pitched drone, and her foot tapped reflexively against the floor as she leant down a little to support her weight on her knees. All noises were dulled. She was underwater. She was drowning.

"Rebecca Wells?"

* * *

Rebecca started, glancing up, for a moment too surprised to answer. Her vision cleared, the drone faded. A woman in a nurse's outfit was standing in front of her, raising an eyebrow.

Rebecca stayed still for a moment, and then shook her head and snapped herself to her feet, politely. The woman gave a small smile, "Good evening. I'm Nurse Rodriguez, it's good to meet you."

She extended a hand and Rebecca shook it, hesitantly, letting go quickly, "I'm here to see Doctor Crane?"

"I'm afraid Doctor Crane is unavailable at the moment. He sends his apologies, but he got pulled into a very important meeting, and will be occupied for the next half an hour. He sent me down to show you to your room." She turned her back, moving quickly down a long corridor, "This way, please."

"My... my _room_?" she asked, shakily, having to speed up substantially to keep up with the woman's fast pace.

The nurse shook her head, "Yes, your room."

"We weren't aware her placement had been fully sanctioned yet." Werner explained, frowning slightly, and Rebecca was glad to realise she was by her side.

"Oh, yes," she replied, briskly, "We've been ready for you for some time, now. Rebecca Lauren Wells, room thirteen, E-block. Just down here, not far."

The woman used a security card attached to her pocket by a coiled elastic wire to unlock the next door, and held it open for them while a low beep droned from a speaker beside it, only stopping when the door had shut. Rebecca glanced at yet another shut exit, hesitantly, but the nurse deftly swept her on, hand on her shoulder.

"Where are we going." Rebecca asked, feeling the stirrings of a nearby panic attack fluttering in her stomach, her eyes flickering over her surroundings.

"To your room, Miss Wells."

"Room thirteen." She repeated, softly, "E-block."

"That's right. Through here."

The next door slamming shut sent a shiver through her, and another hand fell onto her other shoulder, this one somehow far more human. Werner gave her a soft smile, and she made a valiant attempt at returning one.

"Here we are."

* * *

Rebecca paused by the door. She wanted the nurse to go in first, so she wasn't between her and the door, but Rodriguez was apparently having none of it. Hesitantly, she took a few small steps inside.

_Over the threshold..._ a voice whispered in her head, amused.

She didn't find it nearly as funny.

The room was Spartan, white, simple. Even so... it was a hell of a lot more comfortable than Trenton. There was a double bed against the left wall and a desk and chair against the right. It appeared to be two rooms, linked together by a door on the side opposite her, maybe a bathroom.

_Wow, an en suite, when did we get so lucky?_

Slowly, cautiously, she moved further inside. Beside the table there was a shelf covered with books, adding a welcome flash of colour to the otherwise plain room. Rebecca cast an experienced eye over the books and knew that, if this place was anything like the _last_ hospital she had been in, she would finish them within a few weeks. The boredom in these places was enough to drive you insane.

"This will be where you will be living during your stay," Rodriguez said, briskly, moving inside next to her and perfecting the angle of one of the white pillows, "There are two switches on the wall, the first is the light switch and the red one is the panic alarm. This is only for use during an emergency; you'll probably never even touch it. There's another alarm there next to your bed for whenever you want - we understand you have panic attacks, a nurse will be with you within ten seconds, day or night. Through there is the bathroom." She pushed open the door, glancing around it, vaguely.

Rebecca's eyes locked onto the usual: the barred window, the lack of a plug in the sink and any dental floss, and the prison safety-blade razor.

"And... that's about it. Rules and regulations we'll go over when you sign the requisite forms, it's quite a lot of paperwork, I'm afraid."

"I'll fill in any necessary forms for her, that's fine." Nurse Werner replied, calmly.

"Miss Wells is of age. She will have to sign them herself."

"Then she will. But I'll deal with any formalities, get them out of the way."

"Fine. Then, if you are to be dealing with the formalities, Miss...?"

"Nurse. Nurse Werner."

"_Nurse Werner_, then maybe you should head back to reception and ask for the prerequisite forms for patient R. L. Wells."

"The receptionist told me she didn't even exist in this facility."

She nodded, "Of course, then tell her she's an incompetent piece of fluff and to check the new patient database. She'll get the hint, I'm sure." Werner raised her eyebrows at this, but Rodriguez didn't seem to notice. She turned her attention back at Rebecca, giving her a small, formal smile, "You can come with me. We'll do the whole tour, and when Doctor Crane is finished in his meeting we'll take you round to see him. Okay?"

Rebecca's brain immediately picked up on what she was saying and she turned to Werner, urgently, "You're not _leaving_ me."

"No." She replied, firmly, "I'll see you after your meeting with Doctor Crane, and we'll talk then. Okay?"

_**No**__, I'm __**not**__ okay!_ Her mind replied, panicked, angry,_ Do __**not leave**__ me! __**No**__!_

But she gave a small, weak smile, "Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine. See you later, yeah?"

"Yeah." She leaned forwards to put a hand on her shoulder, and, while doing so, took the opportunity to whisper in her ear: "Breathe. Count. Recite. _Any_thing. And don't let the night-witch freak you out. Yeah?"

She smiled again, a little more genuinely this time, and she smiled back. Then Werner straightened up, and the two nurses nodded at each other, slightly stiffly, before she turned around and left the corridor.


	3. Chapter 3: Welcome to Bedlam

**Chapter 3: Welcome to Bedlam**

Rebecca's heart beat hard in her chest, and she felt like she was going to be sick.

"This is the cafeteria where you'll eat, breakfast's served at eight, lunch one, and dinner at seven. Sit wherever you want, just not at the red table - that's for the solitaries. We'll go through this all again at your room, of course, so don't try too hard to remember everything."

She nodded, quickly, and managed a small, weak, "Okay."

Rodriguez nodded back, and kept walking, flicking her ID over another scanner, "Now, any door that you'll need to go through will be left unlocked - by _day_. All doors are locked from eleven at night to six in the morning, for security reasons, of course, I'm sure you understand."

Rebecca nodded again, numbly. In Trenton psych she had been locked in a box all day all night. Having the doors in the corridors locked for seven hours a day meant _nothing_ to her. The nurse kept going, but Rebecca had stopped listening. Her heartbeat hurt. She was picking at the cuticles on her thumbs again.

This place was so... _big_. She felt like she did on her first day at high school. She knew straight away that she wouldn't remember a single word of whatever Nurse Rodriguez had said to her in the past twenty minutes, and hoped fervently that she could get a better picture from Werner after this show had finally finished. She was tired and itchy, twitchy, her vision slightly blurred around the edges. She could feel another vision-trip coming on, and wanted it to be in private, so she could grit her teeth and wait it out as unclear memories and old, old fears tortured her mind.

"Miss Wells?"

She snapped herself back to the present, "Huh?"

"You have luggage, of course?"

Rebecca thought for a moment. Then she nodded, "Yeah, yeah, I've... I've got a bag in the van outside."

"Just the one bag?"

"Yes." It contained all that she owned.

"Well, that shouldn't be a problem. It'll have to be searched and scanned first, of course."

Rebecca wondered whether this nurse was capable of ever completing a sentence that didn't use the words 'of course', "Yeah."

"Good. Now, this way is -"

A huge smash from a room on their right broke across her words.

* * *

Rebecca jolted back, instinctively, her back colliding with the other side of the corridor, barely noticing, just staring at the door, her eyes wide, her heart caught in her chest.

Rodriguez had her attention on the door too, but her expression, far from fear, was grim resignation. She cursed violently under her breath and stalked forwards, throwing the door open.

Yells and shouts and jeers flooded down the corridor, engulfing her, and Rebecca cringed, pulling back even further, her muscles tensed, ready to run.

The nurse cursed again and then stepped into the room, giving sharp orders to a bunch of inmates, yelling at someone to step back, someone to get the hell off him or face solitary.

Rebecca stayed frozen, her breathing harsh, racketing her whole body. One of the ones fighting was white, muscular, at least a foot taller than her, looking at his opponent with a vicious, bloodthirsty sneer, yelling out streams of fluent Italian.

_God. God, no. Run. __**Run**__!_

But she couldn't, she was frozen, she just stayed there, stock still, watching the Hispanic nurse disappear into a mass of prison-uniform clad men, all men, all _huge_, all fighting, jeering, yelling, _screaming_.

_Run. __**Run**__. RUN!_

Rebecca shook her head, slowly. And then, finally, she succumbed to her ferocious instincts, and bolted.

* * *

Rebecca sat crouched on a bathroom floor. She didn't have a clue where she was - she had run for what seemed like hours but what was probably more minutes, and now was completely and utterly lost. She had found this place, deserted, silent, open, with two big, wide doors at opposite ends, and had immediately moved inside, crouching down into a corner, pulling her legs up to her body and burying her head in her knees. Lines of salt streaked her face where tears had dried, her hysterical sobbing finally, mercifully stopped.

**Coward. Fucking God, girl, you're such a fucking coward. **_**Look**_** at you. Scared of a fucking classroom brawl, just **_**look**_** at yourself!**

She did her best to ignore the vicious voice that screamed abuse at her. She huddled further into the corner, pulling herself more tightly into a smaller ball. She did random multiplication sums, counted up in sevens until she lost concentration for a second and forgot where she was, quoted all that she could remember from all the books she had ever read, counted the drips of water from the leaky tap from somewhere above, but none of it worked. She was still shivering. The sobbing had stopped, yes, but she was still shaking. And, try as she may, she couldn't get herself to move, couldn't get herself to her feet.

Some time passed - hours, minutes, she could no longer tell - and then she heard footsteps.

Rebecca flinched, and buried her head deeper into her knees, rocking again.

The footsteps were slow, clipping, high-heels, probably, stopping far away from her, "Are you Rebecca Wells?" The voice was soft, female, with an unplaceable accent. Unfamiliar. Rebecca didn't reply, only tensed even further, waiting for a foreign hand on her shoulder, an unwanted touch.

It didn't come. "Rebecca. It's okay. Everything's okay. You can come with me, now."

"Stay away," she moaned, shaking her head, her voice tight with the beginning of yet more tears, "Please. Stay away from me."

"I'm nowhere near you, Rebecca. If you looked up, you could see that."

She hesitated. Then, slowly, she glanced up.

There was a woman standing by the door, smart in a white top and grey skirt. She had black high heels. Rebecca moved her eyes up to the woman's face. She was middle-aged, maybe about forty, with brown eyes and matching hair, pulled back in what looked like a clip. She was relatively pretty, with a small, pale scar extending above her right eyebrow. Her eyes caught on her, and she moved only one step further into the room, crouching down a little so she was at her level.

The woman paused for a moment, and then moved her brown eyes to meet their darker counterparts, "Rebecca, I'm Doctor Nowell. But you can call me Andrea. Okay?"

She didn't reply. Doctor Nowell sighed, and shook her head, gently, "Rebecca, I'm here to help. Nurse Rodriguez has been looking everywhere for you. She was worried sick."

"She left me," she muttered, retreating a little again, "She left me."

"I know. She wasn't thinking straight. She wanted to help the people in that room. Do you remember?"

"I'm not a damned amnesiac."

Andrea gave a small smile, "Yeah. Sorry." She paused a second, and then smiled again, "So. How long have you been in here counting the water drips?"

Rebecca looked up again, surprised, "How did you..."

She brushed her hair back, her fingers lingering on the scar for less than a second as she did, "I do it myself. Can't help it. When people are by themselves for any sustained amount of time they usually move on to counting. You tried the ceiling tiles yet?"

She paused for a moment, "Done them twice."

"And?"

"Ninety-seven. Ninety-seven and a half if you count that broken one over there."

"Ninety-seven? Hmm. I got ninety-five. Maybe more have been put up recently?"

"Maybe." She hesitated, "Do... do you think I'm obsessive?"

"No. Do _you_?"

She licked her lips. She moved a little, not completely unwrapping herself, but moving into a slightly more comfortable position against the wall, "No. I just... like to count things."

Andrea gave a small, genuine smile, "Nothing wrong with that." There was a short pause. Then she nodded at the wall next to her, "Mind if I take a seat?"

Rebecca thought for a moment. Then she gave a small nod. Doctor Nowell straightened up, getting to her feet, and then walked over to her, slowly. She tried to sit down on her left side, but Rebecca made a small noise in the back of her throat. Nowell paused, looking over the scene in front of her, and then seemed to realise that sitting on the left would block her way to the door, cornering her. She nodded, acknowledging her mistake, and moved to the right, putting her back to the wall and sliding down it to the floor. She put out a leg, keeping one knee bent, and gestured at her, inviting her to do the same. Rebecca paused, and then nodded, sliding one leg down to the floor, slowly.

Doctor Nowell smiled, encouragingly. Then she put a hand on the floor, next to her bent leg, "Nurse Rodriguez is looking for you," she repeated, gently, "It's time for your meeting with Doctor Crane. She was worried you'd got lost."

"Mm." The noise was just an acknowledgment, not an agreement.

"We thought that you'd maybe been a little scared by the fight in the rec. room. Maybe you thought you should get out of their way. Maybe you started running and then just... got a little lost. Maybe you couldn't find anyone to ask, maybe you didn't _want_ to. Not after seeing what people here can be like. Right?"

"Mm." She said again. She felt like something was heating in her stomach. She didn't know if the feeling was good or bad.

"But, maybe... if you had someone you could talk to... someone you could trust... maybe we could get you to that meeting on time. How d'you feel about that."

Rebecca paused for a moment, looking at the floor. She licked her lips, and then looked back at the doctor again, "What's he like," she whispered, hesitantly, "Doctor Crane."

Nowell nodded, thoughtfully, "Jonathan Crane is a very good doctor... but a very intense man. A scientist. He can sometimes come off as cold, but that's just the way he is. It's gonna take some guts for you to talk to him, but the best you can do is try. You think you can do that, kiddo? If we help you?"

"Yeah." The word came out as a hoarse whisper. She cleared her throat, nodding, "Yeah, I... I can try."

"There's a good girl. Now. How about we stand ourselves up, yeah? 'Cause I don't know about you... but my ass is almost _completely_ numb."

She smiled, and Rebecca managed a weak equivalent. The doctor got to her feet, and, mercifully, didn't offer her a hand up. She got up on her own, and shot her a small, grateful smile.

Andrea smiled back, then looked her over, critically, "Tell you what, why don't we have a look at you first, yeah? Smarten you up a bit. You look a state."

Rebecca let out a spluttered laugh, "Thanks."

Her smile broadened, "You're perfectly welcome. Now. Let's get you human again, shall we?"


	4. Chapter 4: Doctor Jonathan Crane

**Chapter 4: Doctor Jonathan Crane**

Someone knocked three times on his door.

"Come." He said, not glancing up from the neatly ordered paperwork on his desk.

The door opened, and Doctor Nowell took the smallest step over the threshold, "Doctor Crane, I've brought Rebecca Wells to see you."

Crane nodded, thoughtfully, aligning the file he was reading with the others before getting to his feet, "Thank you, Doctor Nowell. Please, bring her in."

The woman nodded and stepped further, turning a little to talk to someone out of his sight. Crane moved, standing over to the left of the door with his back to it, knowing full well how intimidating a big wooden desk could be to some particular patients, "Miss Wells, please take a seat."

There was a hesitant squeak of floorboards behind him as someone paused at the door. Doctor Nowell said something he couldn't quite hear, apparently an encouragement, for the footsteps continued, and then there was a soft thump as the patient sat down, slowly.

He turned back round, looking at Nowell first, giving her a small smile, "Thank you, doctor, if you please would leave us for the moment."

Nowell nodded, and then her eyes moved onto the chair still out of his sightline. She gave a small, encouraging smile, the sort that she could do so well, and then left, facing her new friend right 'til she crossed over into the corridor.

Crane waited a second and then moved over to the door, "Miss Wells, I'm Doctor Crane, as I'm sure you know."

There was a pause. Then: "Yes." Her voice was quiet, thin, murmured.

He paused, and then altered his voice, making it less scientific, trying to pick up the tone Nowell seemed to use so easily: "It's good that you're here. So we can meet. I know it's difficult for you to be here. Thank you so much."

There was no reply. She was probably nodding. _Hesitantly_, no doubt. Crane rolled his eyes, unseen to his patient, and then closed the door, turning to her.

At the sound of the hatch clicking home, however, the girl got sharply back to her feet, "Please open that door."

He frowned slightly, "Why."

"It needs to be opened."

"Why." He persisted, putting the slightest emphasis on the word.

She just looked at him for a second, "It needs to be opened." She repeated, emotionlessly.

Crane watched her for a moment. His eyes flickered from her raven-black eyes to her hands, clenched in fists by her sides. He nodded, slowly, "Of course."

He turned and opened the door again, watching for the girl's reaction to know how wide she needed it open. When he had reached her desired result she nodded, looking noticeably relieved, and sunk back into her chair, "Thank you."

"Not a problem." Crane turned back to her, his eyes moving calculatingly over his new patient.

Her files said she was twenty-one, and, if it were not for her profound black eyes, he would have thought she looked her age. She had glowing skin, highlighted with subtle makeup, and wore a smart/casual outfit of worn jeans with a nicely fitted, green, collared shirt. Her makeup was smeared slightly under her eyes. She had been crying. The patient was a ferociously bright redhead; not the pale, freckled, ever-so-delicate type - no, she was the type that looked like, when given the right situation, they could tear you limb from limb.

Except maybe that wasn't fair. She had dark shadows under her eyes that showed she had missed more than a night's sleep, and her posture, contrary to her toned, defined muscles, was meek and submissive. Almost... _scared_.

Crane gave a small, private smile. A meek and submissive schizophrenic... Mm. Interesting.

* * *

Rebecca sat very still in her chair. As the doctor's fantastically blue eyes - or were they _grey_, she couldn't decide - moved over her, calculating, she felt her muscles tense slightly. He was standing up while she was sitting so it was hard to tell, but she thought he could have been about six foot. He had a chiselled jaw and dark brown or black hair, slicked back neatly with a parting you could have measured. He was maybe about thirty, and dressed smartly in a black blazer and jumper over a white, pinstriped shirt, a combination that he somehow managed to make look good. He had a neatly fixed deep red tie, and rimmed black glasses that framed his ocean-coloured eyes.

Rebecca stared at him, her eyes locked onto his face, with those strange eyes and the slightest hint of a thoughtful smile. He was, well...

He was gorgeous.

One of the voices she knew well murmured something particularly uncouth in her ear, and, despite herself, she felt her face flush.

Doctor Crane - ever observant - noticed immediately, and glanced at her, almost curiously, "You're blushing."

The observation only served to intensify the colour in her face, and she shook her head, averting her eyes, muttering an apology at the floor.

'_**Sorry'**_**. Are you **_**really**_** sorry, Becks? Sorry you've seen something you like? 'Cause you **_**shouldn't**_** be. Go on, give him a smile. Flutter those eyelashes, show him those big beautiful eyes.**

Blood continued flooding her face and inside her head she viciously screamed at the voice to just shut the fuck up.

**Aww, don't worry, honey, he looks like the sort of guy who gives as good as he gets. Go for it, darling. I mean, come on, how long has it been since you were last down on your knees?**

She winced at the thought, and silenced the voice before it could continue deeper into depravity. Doctor Crane had been watching her all the way through her silent mental argument, his expression pure vague curiosity.

He paused for a moment, and then moved forwards, sitting in a chair opposite her. There was a pen in the top right pocket of his shirt, and he took it out, taking a notepad off a small table beside his chair and making a few quick notes. He placed it back, angling it slightly so it was exactly parallel to the wood grain - a habit that didn't surprise her in the slightest - and then looked up at her, seriously, "Your full name is Rebecca Lauren Wells, yes?"

She nodded, slowly. Then she shook her head at her own lack of courtesy, "Yes. Yes, it is."

"And you are twenty-one years of age."

"Yes."

A few more notes, "You spent two months at Warren State in Pennsylvania and Southwestern Virginia in Marion respectively, and then the remaining seventeen months in Trenton Psychiatric Hospital in Mercer County, is that correct?"

"Yes."

Crane nodded, thoughtfully, and then glanced down at the notepad, scribbling some more. Rebecca did her usual and glanced at the door, having deliberately taken the seat that would give her the best view, and then looked back at him, quickly, so he didn't catch it. She looked again at the notepad, and wondered how he knew all these things about her without having to check her file.

_Must have one hell of a memory. Well, I suppose he __**is**__ a __**doctor**__._

"Where were you born, Miss Wells?"

"Pennsylvania. Coopersburg. Fairview street, just off the three-oh-nine."

"Of course. You're bleeding."

The abrupt observation startled her. For a moment, Rebecca just sat there, motionless, and then she glanced down at her hands. The cuticles on both thumbs were now torn to shreds, and blood trickled down her skin, far enough to touch at her wrists. She hesitated, and then shook her head, bringing a thumb into her mouth and sucking on it, quickly. Then she paused, glancing at the doctor. He'd raised an eyebrow.

Quickly, Rebecca took the thumb out her mouth, tucking it into the safety of her hands, consciously.

Doctor Crane's expression didn't change. Without looking down, he scribbled a few notes onto his pad. She found her eyes latched onto the movements of the pen, and, after a few seconds, she nodded at it, timidly, "D'you think... d'you think I could see that when you're done?"

The doctor gave a small smile, "Well, of course, Miss Wells, but I don't know how much of it you would understand." He flashed her his notepad and she frowned at the strange, foreign-looking symbols, "Shorthand." He explained, placing it back down on the desk.

Rebecca nodded, slowly. Shorthand. Of course. She realised she was rubbing her thumbs against the insides of her fingers, widening the cuts, and firmly stopped herself. Inside her head, she gave herself a firm talking to.

**Man up, Becks. **That particularly annoying voice sneered, mockingly, **What, you're **_**scared**_** of Mister Hot-Stuff over there? Oh, what am I saying, you're a paranoid schizo, of **_**course**_** you are. Fucking wimp. Goddamned, small-time, voice-hearing **_**loser**_**.**

The voice screamed around the room. Crane didn't flinch, didn't give any sort of reaction. And neither did she. But her heart started fluttering. She'd have to take her tablets again soon...

Crane was writing again. The silence was killing her. She shook her head, hesitantly, "D-Doctor Crane?"

He looked up, raising an eyebrow again, "Yes?"

"Can I... can I be straight with you?"

He settled back in his chair a little, "Of course you can, Miss Wells. That's what I'm here for."

Rebecca pulled in a deep, slow breath, and then took the plunge: "What am I doing here. I didn't hurt anyone. All I did was stay silent for a few months and now everyone suddenly thinks I'm a danger. This is _Arkham_. This is a _mental hospital_ for the _criminally insane_. Why am I here."

He looked at her for a moment over the rims of his thick black glasses, "You're not here because you're a criminal, Miss Wells. You're here so we can keep an eye on you. And, yes, Arkham is an asylum for the criminally insane. But that is not _all_ it is. We will keep you safe, I assure you. Just until we see if we can help you."

She shook her head, "Well you can't. You can't cure schizophrenia, it just goes into remission."

"And how do you know that?"

"How? I have access to the internet, doctor, just like the _other_ three-quarters of the population." He raised an eyebrow, and she shook her head, conceding, "Actually, I studied it. Applied Psychology, containing a module on schizophrenia. Long time ago."

He nodded, thoughtfully, "Is that right."

"Yeah. Didn't get a PhD. Got an AP, though."

"Really. What level?"

She blushed again, "Actually, no, I... _don't_ think I'm gonna answer that one. Sorry."

He cocked his head slightly to one side in a kind of half-shrug, "Suit yourself." He paused for a moment, watching her, and then gave a small, lopsided smile, "Relax. Please. No-one is going to hurt you here. Relax."

"Okay." She replied, hesitantly. She didn't move.

Crane gave a small sigh, keeping the smile, "How do you relax, Miss Wells?"

She gave a nervous laugh, "I'm a paranoid schizophrenic, Doctor Crane. I _don't_."

"You must _some_time. What makes you feel secure?" she didn't reply, unsure, and he tried again: "For instance. You're sitting in that chair as if you're about to run for your life. Why don't you sit how you're comfortable?"

She paused, looking down at herself. Then back at him. He nodded, encouragingly. Rebecca paused again, and then sat back in the chair as far as she could, bringing her sneakered feet up onto the green leather, folding her knees in close, her hands pulling her legs towards her. She glanced up at Crane again, almost anxiously, as if she wanted his approval.

* * *

Crane looked at the girl's positioning on the chair and raised an eyebrow. His eyes flicked down to her feet on the chair, but, despite the fact that he was almost twitching at the sight of it, he didn't comment. Instead he made a quick note on the pad, and then looked back at her, "Better?"

She nodded, "Yeah."

He nodded, settling back into his own chair, "So. This... _applied psychology AP_... does it mean I can talk to you as a psychologist?"

She gave a small, wry smile, "It means you can talk to me as a high school graduate, Doctor Crane. Interpret that any way you want."

He nodded, "I will."

She smiled again. He knew what she was thinking. They both knew the divide between a PhD and a high school piece of paper was a large one. But hopefully he had given off the air that he wasn't going to judge her, no matter what.

He paused, thinking about how he was going to play this, "How much do you know about your illness, Miss Wells?"

"Schizophrenia?" she shrugged, and Crane noticed she had started to rock slightly in her chair, "Enough."

"You know you're a treatment-resistant, don't you."

She nodded, "Yes."

"And what does that mean."

"It means I had to take more than two different types of medication before one was found that had the full affect." She replied, promptly.

He gave a small smile, somewhat satisfied by this answer, "Correct. Did you do many studies on schizophrenia?"

"Well, mostly it was MPD, Multiple Personality Disorder, but we did do a few on schizophrenia, yeah. Mostly on the associated stigma, actually."

"Hm. An interesting subject." A lie, but not an uncalled for one, at least.

"Yes. Of course, it's all very real to me now."

He nodded, thoughtfully, "Of course." He studied her for a moment. Then he titled his head slightly to one side, "Miss Wells, do you know anything about the _causes_ of schizophrenia?"

She nodded, slowly, "Yeah. A bit. Sometimes it's genetic. Sometimes it can be caused by... overuse of certain... hallucinogens... drugs... A sudden mental trauma can cause the mind to fragment, split, create... different personalities... And _physical_ traumas, of course. A substantial blow to the head, maybe. Is that what you mean?"

"Mm." He looked at her for a second, and then back down to his pad, deciding to be blunt: "And what was the causing factor for _you_. What made _you_ schizophrenic."

Suddenly the girl started rocking again, her whole body taught, "Are you going to change my meds again?" her voice was soft, quiet, oblivious to the panic obviously pumping through her brain, "The nurses put me on Risperdal for a while, but my body couldn't take it -"

"Miss Wells."

She kept talking as if she hadn't heard him: "- so they switched me onto Ziprasidone, but that really wasn't much good at all, so now I'm -"

"_Miss Wells_."

"- now I'm on Clozapine, and they work so much better, they're really good, really..." she trailed off. She stopped rocking. Her eyes flickered up, catching on his, her arms still wrapped tightly around her knees, "Are you going to change my meds again?"

He sat back in his chair, "Well, Miss Wells, that has been discussed. I am considering on putting you on another... _special_ sort of medication. But that's not what you're here for specifically."

She paused for a moment, "Are you going to lock me up? With the others? Lock me in a cell?"

"You are claustrophobic?" he asked, fluidly.

She gave a small, nervous smile, "No, I just don't like small enclosed spaces." Her eyes flickered again, locking onto the door, as if to check it was still open. Then she returned her attention to him, "As you know."

"Of course."

He could feel her eyes on him as he jotted down notes, and there was a soft thump as she put her feet back on the floor, "I'm not crazy." He looked up at her and cocked an eyebrow, still writing, and she shook her head, "Well I _am_. But I'm not fanatical. With the pills... I _can_ keep control."

"Is it important to you that you keep control?"

She looked at him. She paused for such a long time that Crane knew she was having a ferocious mental debate in the silence. Then she nodded, "Yes. Yes, it is."

"Why?"

Another long pause. "Because then... because then I'm still... I'm still _me_."

Crane watched the girl for a moment. Then he nodded, abruptly, and got to his feet, "Thank you so much for coming to see me, Miss Wells. You must be tired. I'll get Doctor Nowell to take you back to your room, you know that she is one of the hospital's psychiatrists?"

The girl nodded, slowly. She _did_ look tired. Small and weak and tired.

"I am thinking of assigning her to you as your main psychiatrist. What do you think about that?"

She tilted her head, noncommittally, "She's a good woman."

"Good." He turned to the phone on his desk, dialling in reception, "Ms Hoffman, send Doctor Nowell up to my office, will you?"

"Yes, doctor."

"Thank you. Now." He said, releasing the speakerphone button and turning back to his newest little patient, "I want to have a look at the medication you're on. More likely than not it'll be fine - it's just a precaution, you understand?"

"Yes."

"Good. I'll see you again soon, I'm sure. Until then, I want you to try and do something for me, okay?"

"What?"

He looked at her, seriously, "Relax. Do you think you can do that?"

The girl looked at him for a second, "Of course. Because, I mean, I'm only a paranoid schizophrenic in an asylum for the criminally insane. What could I possibly have to _worry_ about?"

Crane smiled.


	5. Chapter 5: Having Patients

**Chapter 5: Having Patients**

"Nurse Werner? Thank you for coming."

"You're welcome, doctor."

Doctor Crane nodded, thoughtfully, and glanced over some scribbled writing in a small ring-bound notebook in his hand, "I want to discuss Miss Wells with you, if that's alright."

"Of course." She replied, easily, her eyes moving over him. He was quite attractive for a psychologist, a fact that she knew wouldn't have slipped _Rebecca's_ attention, _either_. Young, dark haired, bright eyed, he was just the type for her to run from the second he shut the door. She found herself wondering how the meeting between them had gone. Short and painful, most probably. On _her_ part, anyway.

"You were her nurse for... thirteen months, is that right?"

"Yes, doctor."

"How would you describe her?"

She paused, "In her normal stages or her schizophrenic stages?"

He smiled slightly, "Both."

"Well... she's... an incredibly bright girl. In her good moments she's independent, bright, happy... relaxed... fiery, _very_ fiery... But her illness has taken that all from her, of course."

"And in her bad moments?"

"She's withdrawn. Paranoid. Angry, scared... very emotional, and very diverse. She can't control herself."

"Do you know the particulars of her hallucinations?"

"No. She's said before that she always has two or more voices. One that, when she's calm, she admits wants to hurt her. The other... well, the other she says tries to help her, but might just be pretending. Both female, both voices that aren't her own, the usual." Werner glanced down at the pad that he was making notes on, "This is all confidential, of course."

"Of course. But I need to know her background if I am to try and help treat her, I'm sure you understand that."

"Yes."

"You said scared."

She frowned, "Pardon?"

"You said _scared_. She has phobias?"

Werner paused for a second, "Many, I assume. But none she'll discuss with us."

He nodded, "She admitted to being claustrophobic."

"Well. Not really _claustrophobic_. She's fine being locked in her room at night, couldn't care in the slightest. But... if there's someone in the room with her and the door's closed... _that's_ what she can't stand."

He noted something down, thoughtfully, "Hmm. She's on Clozapine? What dosage?"

"Twelve point two five milligrams." She replied, promptly, having no unease at his sudden switching of topics. She'd worked in a psychiatric hospital for over ten years. She was used to it.

He raised an eyebrow, "Rather high."

She gave a small smile, "She's rather schizophrenic."

"And she was taken off Risperdal and Ziprasidone, I'm assuming she's a treatment-resistant?"

"Very. Clozapine's her last shot, really. If this doesn't work... I don't know _what_ we'll do."

"She's reported improvements."

"Yes, she has, and that's very encouraging."

"She's an insomniac?"

She looked at him, slightly intrigued that a doctor would have a habit that she would classify as a primary trait in the insane, "Not... not as such." Her attention was caught by his scribbling again, "Doctor, I could... print you out her file, if you want."

"No, that's fine, Nurse Werner." He replied, smoothly, "I prefer to keep my thoughts in my own handwriting. Just a habit. Not as such...?"

"She has slow-sleep insomnia, punctured by... horrific nightmares."

"Nightmares about what?"

She shook her head, "I don't know. _No_-one knows."

"But she's in touch with a psychologist, of course?"

"She has her _own_ psychologist. Doctor Moss. Elaine. She's a good doctor."

"Well. We'll see about that, won't we?" Werner raised an eyebrow, but Crane had already moved on: "Doctor Nowell will be caring for her for the time being."

Werner drew in a slow breath, "Doctor Crane, with all due respect, Miss Wells and Elaine have established a close relationship over more than eleven months of therapy, I very much doubt whether -"

"I'm sure all will be fine, Nurse Werner." He cut over, fluidly, "Please inform Doctor Moss that I'll need copies of any files, notes and the video recordings of her sessions with Miss Wells as soon as possible, thank you."

She shook her head, trying again: "Doctor Crane -"

"You were close with Doctor Moss?" he said, as if he hadn't heard her, "Did she ever discuss Miss Wells' therapy sessions with you?"

She paused, letting him know that she was not happy with being overruled, "No. They are all strictly confidential."

"But you were her nurse." He said, looking at her with scientific grey eyes, "A nurse she was close with, I gather."

"Yes. We had a close... _professional_ relationship."

"Which, giving her condition, must have been rare." He prompted, raising an eyebrow.

She didn't jump for the bait: "I suppose it was."

"So." He paused for a second, eyes flickering over his notes, and then looked back up at her, "What happened to her."

Werner took another breath. She had known it was coming to this. "I don't know." She replied, truthfully.

"How so?"

"All I can tell you are the facts, Doctor Crane."

"And that's all I want." He replied, that lopsided smile moving over his lips again.

She shook her head, delving back in her memory, "Well. On January third two thousand and eight, Wells was found walking up the three-oh-nine highway. Right out by the four-seven-six, near the Pennsylvania turnpike exit, nearly twenty miles from her home. She was covered in blood, filthy, like she had been left in a dumpster, or something. It was snowing heavily and she was wearing pants and a vest top. A car stopped; a man tried to take her to the hospital. She didn't say a word, until he touched her. And then she screamed."

Crane shifted slightly in his chair, looking indifferently down at his pad for a moment, jotting again, "Did he manage to get her in?"

"No. He called an ambulance. _They_ couldn't manage to get her in. A female paramedic sat her down by the side of the road. They tried to examine her. She refused. Anyone who touched her, she'd scream, fight, force them off of her. When they were away from her she was as good as gold. Just sitting there, silently. They managed to get her into hospital, by just telling her where they were going. A couple of paramedics walked her there. They admitted her. The police found her house damn near burned to the ground, and her father, Dean, her only living relative, missing."

Crane nodded, thoughtfully, "And her state?"

"At the beginning, she was almost catatonic. If anyone came into her room - _any_one - her pulse rate would go up to two-ninety. If they shut the door behind them, she would start to hyperventilate. She still refuses to be examined. The damage, whatever she went through... we still don't know. She barely sleeps. It was quite obvious something had happened to her, something horrific... but Lord knows what. It was three months before she would even speak. And then... well. She wasn't speaking to _us_."

Crane nodded, emotionlessly, "So this was the start of her schizophrenic episodes?"

"As far as we know, yes." She hesitated, and then shook her head, leaning towards him, almost warningly, "That girl is very fragile, Doctor Crane. The slightest blip could push her right back to where she was last year. She needs love and care. She needs _help_."

Doctor Crane pushed his glasses back into place and gave her that small, lopsided smile, "Well. That is what we are here for."


	6. Chapter 6: Broken Glass

**Chapter 6: Broken Glass**

The halls were cold at night. Rebecca stopped by the nearest door, put her hand on the cold metal. She glanced over her shoulder. Nothing. No-one.

_Do it. You can do it. Get out of this place. __**Do**__ it._

She hesitated, looking at the thick glass.

_Break it._ The soft, soothing voice said, firmly, _It won't hurt. I promise. Just break it._

She nodded, and then turned, looking around for something she could use. She settled on a doorknob, and, after a few seconds of ferocious yanking, managed to pull it off. She turned back to the main door.

_Do it. Quickly. Someone will have heard that._

Rebecca nodded again, and, immediately, moved close to the door. She paused for less than a second, and then, using all her strength, smashed the brass doorknob against the window. The glass cracked slightly.

_Again. __**Quickly**__._

She did it again, and again. On the fourth hit the glass finally shattered, showering her with splinters, making her wince as a particularly big one cut into her hand, slicing through. She shook her head and stood up on tiptoes, reaching through the broken window to the door handle on the other side. She managed to wrench it open, and quickly moved through.

Then she stopped. Glass covered the floor on the other side, along with her own blood. Rebecca frowned slightly. The colours were blending, merging, warping together, the red of the blood, the silver of the glass, the pale blue of the wall. She held out a hand to it, hesitantly. Her hand spun too, her flesh moving, crawling under the skin. She stared at it, transfixed, and then back to the glass.

Another voice spoke up in her head: **How pretty. Pretty, pretty glass, smeared with blood... **There was a long pause, **We should make **_**more**_**.**

_No._

**We could spill a lot more blood than this, you know. **_**All**_** your blood. If you wanted.**

_No. Not now. Get out first. Get out of this hell. Run. __**Run**__. RUN!_

Rebecca started running. Fast. She ducked her way through hundreds of corridors, all looking the same, so familiar, like she was running through a maze, full out, completely random, going nowhere.

The second voice continued talking: **Maybe not glass, then. A knife. You've seen how pretty knives are, right? How... **_**entrancing**_**? You like knives, right?**

"Entrancing?" She murmured, softly, finally entering somewhere she recognised - the cafeteria - and searching automatically for the fire escape.

**Yeah. You like knives. I know you do. We like knives, don't we, Becks? We **_**really**_** like knives.**

"Yes." She was pulling at the fire escape, yanking at the door. It wouldn't open. There was a security pad on the wall near to it. She typed in a series of completely random numbers. Access was denied.

**Rebecca. Look. Over there. Under that table. Look at that. **

Rebecca turned. Over there under one of the small serving tables, overlooked by the kitchen staff, was a long, sharp, shiny knife.

_**No**_. The other voice said, firmly, as she started walking over to it, _**Not now**__. You need to get __**out**__ first. Remember?_

"Get out." She murmured again, nodding slowly, her hand closing around the knife's black plastic handle.

"Hey! Who are you?"

* * *

Rebecca got to her feet, slowly, and turned round.

Doctor Nowell started, her eyes widening, "_Rebecca_?"

She started towards her, and, instantly, Rebecca put the knife up to her own throat.

**Stay back.**

"Stay back."

**Stay away.**

"Stay away."

**Don't come any closer.**

"Don't... don't come any closer."

Doctor Nowell stayed exactly where she was, one hand still out, eyes on the blade, "Rebecca. Please. Don't do this."

_Tell her to open the fire escape. Tell her to open it so you can leave_.

Rebecca nodded blankly at the door behind the woman, not even noticing as the movement allowed the blade to pierce her skin slightly, a small drop of blood rolling down her neck, "Open the fire escape."

The doctor shook her head, slowly, "Rebecca. Please. Don't. You're not well. You need to be here, you _know_ that."

She sighed. Then she forced the knife up a bit further, not even flinching while Andrea brought in a sharp hiss of breath. Blood now leaked slowly down her skin, freely, and she looked the psychiatrist in the eyes, blankly, "Open the fire escape. Would you rather be the cause of my escape or my death." The voice wasn't hers. It was dull, low. Dead.

Tears shone in the doctor's eyes. But she nodded, slowly, "Okay. Okay, Rebecca. I'm gonna go open it now. Okay?"

"Thank you."

The woman turned around, slowly, moving over to the door. She hesitated again, and glanced at her.

Rebecca gave another shove on the knife, adjusting her grip as it slipped on the blood now covering the entire knife.

_**Do**_** it!**

"_Do_ it!"

**Now!**

"Now!"

She nodded, quickly, and dialled a number into the pad, too fast for her to see. There was a small, high-pitched bing and the door clunked open.

Rebecca moved quickly towards the door, the knife still to her throat. She glanced down out of the door. A rickety, cold metal ladder stood just outside a small silver platform. She'd have to take the blade off her neck to climb down.

She glanced back at the doctor, hesitantly.

**She'll tell them, Becks. **A voice whispered, urgently, forcing her to listen to it, **She'll tell them. She'll tell them where you've gone. She'll tell Crane. Crane and the others. Then they can find you. They'll hurt you.**

"No." She said, softly, the word slipping out of her lips.

_**Yes**_**. You know they will. So. You have to stop her. You have to stop her, Rebecca.**

"What do you mean."

**Take the knife. End it. Stop her.**

* * *

Rebecca stood still for a moment. Then she shook her head, "I don't hurt people."

**She wants to hurt **_**you**_**, Rebecca. She wants to hurt you. Teach her. Teach her not to hurt you. Stop her.**

Doctor Nowell shook her head, slowly. Her voice trembled slightly, and she backed off a few steps, "Rebecca. I know you don't hurt people. I know you won't hurt me, Rebecca. I'm your friend."

**You don't **_**have**_** any friends! **The woman hissed, suddenly sharp, angry, **She's **_**lying**_**!**

"You're lying."

"No."

_**Yes**_**!**

"Yes."

"I just want to help you, Rebecca. Please. I just want to help you."

Rebecca shook her head. She licked her lips. Her grip shifted on the kitchen knife, causing a fresh stream of blood to trickle down her hand.

"Rebecca." Andrea said again, her voice pleading, "Please. Put down the knife."

Her grip tightened again, "No."

**It needs to be done. She **_**must die**_**.**

"No," she said again, this time her tone taking on some of the doctor's pleading, "_No_."

**Make it fast. Do it fast. Now, Rebecca. Do it now.**

Very slowly, she moved her grip on the knife, taking it away from her throat. Then she pointed it towards Nowell.

She watched the doctor's momentary relief turn to horror, "Rebecca..." she said, slowly, "What are you doing."

A tear moved down her cheek and she brushed it away, fiercely. She looked back at Andrea again, "I can't."

**You can.**

"I _can't_."

"You wouldn't, Rebecca." Andrea said, quietly, "I _know_ you. You wouldn't."

"Shut up!" she shouted through her tears, gesturing at her with the knife, "Just _shut_ up!"

**Kill her! **_**Do**_** it! **_**DO IT**_**!**

"Rebecca. Put down the knife."

"I can't, they... they won't let me."

"Rebecca." She said again, firmly, "You're _stronger_ than them. Please."

"No. I'm not." She paused for a moment, and then started walking towards her.

The woman backed away, alarmed, "Rebecca. _Rebecca_. _Listen_ to me. Just _listen_, _please_! _Put down the_ -"

* * *

Someone tackled her from behind, wrenching the knife from her grip and throwing it to the floor before grabbing her arms. Rebecca fought with the hold, viciously, Doctor Nowell screaming, the man behind her grunting, struggling, cursing violently as she stamped and kicked and punched, doing everything and anything she could to get away.

"Calm. _Down_." The man growled.

She replied by forcing an elbow back into his stomach with all her strength.

He grunted again and then threw her to the ground, her back smacking the floor, knocking the wind out of her. He took advantage of this and threw himself on top of her, hands grabbing her wrists, legs either side of her waist, pinning her down.

Rebecca looked up, and it was _him_, it was _him_, she _knew_ it was him, and she screamed and yelled and scrambled, fighting with every inch of her being, trying to force him off her.

He just tightened his hold, stopping her struggles in that one easy movement, and looked down on her, "Cool it, Wells." He said, his voice so familiar, sending chills of disgust running through her.

"Let me go. Let me go let me go let me _GO_!" she managed to wrench a hand away from him and her fingers brushed against the handle of the knife.

The man saw it and instantly snapped out his hand, grabbing it before she could, the movement sending him flat down on top of her, a position he met with a grunt of surprise and she met with an increase in volume of her yelling, shaking uncontrollably, fear seizing her heart and lungs.

"Calm down!" he said again, fighting for grips on her wrists, "I'm not gonna hurt you!"

**Yes he is yes he is! Get him off get him off **_**get him OFF**_**!**

_It's him. It's him, you know it's him. Oh God. God deliver us... deliver us from..._

"Deliver us from evil." She managed, still fighting, fighting with his grip.

"She's delirious. Rebecca. Rebecca, can you hear me?"

_D'you know the rosary, do you go to confession, do you know Latin? The Hail Mary say it recite it out for us._

**Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee.**

_Hey, angel, you listenin' to me? You hearin' me, babe?_

**Blessed art thou among women.**

_Oi. __**Rebecca**__. You __**listenin'**__ to me?_

**And blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus.**

"Get off of me." Someone snarled through her throat, her voice a low, dark growl.

**Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners.**

He looked at her for a second, and then smirked, _What's it worth?_

**Now, and at the hour of our death.**

Amen.

* * *

Rebecca bolted upright with a strangled yell, falling to the floor, barely noticing.

_I can't breathe can't breathe can't breathe can't -_

Her mind scrambled with a long-forgotten memory, she was gasping, not getting in enough air, and she was starting to feel dizzy.

_Shit shit __**shit! **_Her mind gabbled, trying desperately to grab back hold of the reality that seemed so far away, her heart pounding as she fought to remember where she was.

She looked around her, and crashed back into reality with an almost audible thud. Arkham. Her room, in Arkham. Arkham Asylum.

Rebecca let out a small, hysterical laugh, balling up on the floor, pulling the still tangled sheets over her so she was surrounded in a blanket of darkness. She stayed like this until her heart calmed. Well. That was... _new_... I mean, she'd always had dreams about _him_, of course, but the _hospital_... she never dreamed about the hospital. Her nights were usually the one sanctuary from the institution. The fact that it had managed to break through even her dreams both annoyed and scared her. She shivered as she remembered the dream. She could still feel him on top of her, feel his hands on her.

Rebecca shuddered again and then forced herself to her feet. She threw off the sweat-drenched nightclothes, ridding herself of the feel of foreign hands, and grabbed another pair from her suitcase, sliding them on, quickly. Then she turned to her bed.

Rebecca sighed as she saw the explosion that was where she had slept, and dragged the blanket back to its original position, doing her best to straighten the sheets. She stopped when she realised they had been torn by her midnight show, and sighed again. She was such a fucking nut-job. She ripped them off, unceremoniously, and dumped them at the foot of the bed with her nightclothes. She'd deal with it tomorrow. She put a hand to her mouth and yawned. God, what _time_ was it?

She started moving towards the bathroom, feeling a wreck, knowing that if she looked even half as bad as she felt it would take several hours to remove the effect. She reached around, searching for the light switch in the darkness, finally finding it and flicking it on.

She blinked for a moment, wincing, the light drowning out her pupils. Then she managed to concentrate, and moved her eyes up to the mirror.

* * *

Rebecca froze. Her breath caught in her throat. Then she snapped, letting out a cry of frustration, anger and fear, hurling herself towards it, hammering her fists on the shiny reflective glass, grabbing a bottle of whatever the hell it was from the sink and spraying thick green blobs of liquid at the mirror, covering it, smearing it with her hands, frantically, rubbing it all over, shaking, trying to block out the image, retreating back, away, falling down to the floor beside the bed, crouching into a ball, sobbing uncontrollably.

But, even though the mirror was out of her view, around the corner, even when she closed her eyes, she could see her reflection, the long, straight, auburn hair, the pale white skin, the black eyes, the delicate lips, and, along the side of her neck, the small, deep cut of a thin bladed, black handled kitchen knife.


	7. Chapter 7: The New Basket Case

**Chapter 7: The New Basket Case**

_Sunday, September 27__th__._

"Rebecca, it's time for your... _Rebecca_?"

The nurse immediately fell to her knees by her side, taking her hands in hers, "Rebecca? Rebecca? What happened?"

Rebecca immediately clutched Nurse Werner's hands, pulling her close to her face, "You've gotta get me out of here."

"Okay, Rebecca, just calm down."

"Please."

"Rebecca -"

"_Please_. I can't, I -"

"Rebecca." Werner repeated, firmly, "Calm down. Now." Her trained eyes flickered over the room, clocking the bunched, torn sheets and the open bathroom door, light still on, "You've obviously had a nightmare. Yes?"

Her grip tightened, desperate for her to understand, "No. No, it wasn't a dream. It wasn't a dream. It was _real_."

"Rebecca. Listen to yourself." She paused for a moment, and then shook her head, taking a screw-top bottle out of her pocket and shaking two tablets into her hand, "Here. Take these. Take them now."

Because this was not Nurse Cheerful talking, Rebecca immediately did as she was asked, following the tablets with a long swig of water from the cup she offered her. She opened her mouth reflexively, and Werner checked to see if she had swallowed them, but only out of protocol - they both knew she'd taken them.

"Now. Are you feeling calmer?"

She nodded, firmly, "Yes."

"So. Tell me about your dream."

"It wasn't a dream."

Werner took a breath, "Okay. So. Tell me about it."

Rebecca outlined the last day, or as much as she could remember of it, right up to waking up shaking in her bed, which the nurse frowned at but didn't comment. Werner nodded, slowly, "Okay. Now. I want you to stay calm right now, Rebecca. 'Cause I'm going to poke holes in your way of thinking. Okay?"

She nodded again, perfectly used to this, "Okay."

"Good. Now, number one: the windows in this place are made out of double-glazed fibreglass - there's no way you could have smashed through one, and, number two, surely I would have seen it on my way up here, and I didn't. Number three: there is no way the staff here would have overlooked something as dangerous as a knife in the cafeteria. They're not idiots. And, number four... you were in your bed. You woke up. It was just a bad dream, Rebecca."

Rebecca pulled her hair back out the way of her neck, angrily, "Then what about _this_?"

Werner frowned, examining the mostly healed cut on her neck, "What..." she breathed, her gentle hands shying away from the wound, shaking her head, slowly.

"Exactly."

But she shook her head again, "Rebecca... this is a nasty cut. But it doesn't look like a knife wound to me, and I've seen a lot of them." She straightened up, looking around her again, and then nodded, "Here. D'you see?" she pointed out one of the bedposts to her. Down about halfway a chunk of wood was sticking out, as if someone had kicked it, viciously. Werner ran a finger over it, "Blood. You must have scratched your neck on it when you fell out of bed."

Rebecca shook her head, desperately, "But... but I _know_ it was _real_. I could _feel_ it."

Werner looked at her for a second. Slowly, she raised an eyebrow. Rebecca knew the look, and she shook her head, almost bitterly. She paused for a moment. Then she shook her head again, looking up, catching her eyes, "Is this... is this _never_ gonna end?"

"I can't answer that, Rebecca."

"I know. I know. I just..." she gripped her hair for a second, and then relaxed, sighing, "This is driving me completely and utterly insane."

Werner gave a wry smile, "Sure it is. C'mon. Up you get."

She glanced at the clock on her wall, now readable by the light the nurse had turned on upon entering, and shook her head, muttering a vague curse, "So you still haven't learnt my 'not-before-ten' rule, then, hey?"

She smiled again, lending a hand to pull her to her feet, "Seeing as you take your tablets at seven, you might as well get _up_ at seven. While you're already _awake_."

"And why shouldn't I just go back to sleep? Makes more sense than hanging around _this_ dump all day."

She nodded, raising an eyebrow, amused, "So what do you think of the new paradise?"

"Don't get me started..." she advised, grudgingly.

Werner laughed. Automatically, despite the fact that this wasn't her workplace, and it wasn't her job, she started tidying Rebecca's torn sheets, bundling them away into a big laundry basket, smoothing down the bed that she still sat on, "You hungry?"

Rebecca thought about it. Most of the time the Clozapine and random panic attacks made her feel too ill to have that much of an appetite. But, strangely... "I could eat."

"Really? Good. I'll walk with you to the cafeteria? You know," she added, throwing her a fake, world-weary roll of the eyes, "Once you've deemed it worthy to get your royal ass outta bed..."

Rebecca laughed.

* * *

Twenty minutes later, and the relaxed, easy amusement had long gone. She was standing just inside the door of the cafeteria, the pure noise inside overwhelming her slightly. She paused, and then continued down towards the staff. She could feel eyes like heat on her sides and back; hear people talking about 'the new crazy bitch', making no effort to lower their voices. She felt her heart thump painfully.

Thank God the doors in this place stayed open.

She took a tray and a woman wearing a greasy blue pinafore served her something that she didn't even glance at. She kept her eyes on the floor, busy ignoring the voices. Some things never change...

Her expert eyes scoped around the busy room until they found an empty table - mercifully near the back and the left door - and started towards it. Several chairs shot out at her as she passed, as if merely pushing a piece of furniture towards her would make her choose to sit down at a table of six white skinheads, or of a man chatting happily to a puppet on his hand, or a woman who was staring at her like she would like nothing more in the world than to kill her on the spot.

Rebecca kept walking, ignoring each of them, her heart fluttering in her chest but refusing point blank to let the apprehension appear on her face. She reached the empty table and sat, pushing her tray into the proper position on the table. She cricked her neck that still hurt from her ungraceful dismount from her bed this morning, and took the opportunity to glance round at her surroundings.

She wasn't the only one sitting alone. Not that she really cared if she was. There was a brown-haired male sitting alone along to the left, continuously muttering to himself, and a blonde woman wearing what looked like a jester's costume laughing away at nothing a couple of seats behind. Rebecca pulled in a slow, deep breath, fixing her eyes on the door for a few seconds, calming herself, and then started on her breakfast of what looked like porridge and what could have maybe been canned apples.

"Hey, darling, how's it hanging?"

* * *

Rebecca finished her mouthful, slowly, and didn't answer. There was a pause, and she was just thinking the stranger had left when a tray plonked onto the table next to hers, held by a small white hand, "Budge up, will ya, honey?"

She was all too pleased to obey. She moved swiftly to the right, as far away from the man as she could, making sure they weren't even brushing.

The guy didn't seem to mind, sitting heavily down on the bench, "Thanks a bunch, sweets." He took a fork of something that looked slightly like scrambled eggs cooked in a sewer, and spoke through a mouthful: "I'm Ky. What's your name?"

She didn't reply for a moment. Ky laughed, shaking his head, "Alright. Alright, honey. Just thought you could use the company."

"Fuck you doin' over here, Ky."

Internally, Rebecca groaned and rolled her eyes. Shit. The loner had a mate. Just fucking awesome.

"Watch your tongue, kid, or you'll end up losing it." Another voice said, coolly, and a girl laughed.

Check that. _Three_ mates. Fan-fucking-tastic.

As she had dreaded, the guy who had spoken first dropped his tray down on the table opposite hers, making her flinch, "Hey, we got ourselves a new red! How you doin', Red?"

"Shut it, Caden! Her hair's _gorgeous_, wish I had hair like that."

The girl shoved Caden's tray aside, taking his place in front of her, only slightly reducing her unease, "Sorry about him. The man's a Neanderthal, I swear. So, what's your name?"

Rebecca didn't reply.

"She aint a talker." Ky replied, helpfully.

"Really?" the other asked, sarcastically, "Never would have guessed that."

Caden shifted slightly, leaning over the table towards her, "So. Red. _Can_ you talk? Or are ya just ashamed of your accent?"

"Shove it, Caden, leave the poor gal alone." The girl's hand rested on hers for a second, seemingly not perturbed at all when she quickly moved it away, "This is Caden. And Jumper. Ky's probably already introduced himself, arrogant piece of shit. I'm Ray-Ray."

Ray-Ray? Ky? Jumper? Fuck, she must've walked into Disney studios by mistake...

Ray-Ray took her hand again, and, finally, she glanced up. The girl was probably older than her, but she didn't look it. She had dyed blonde hair that looked like she'd had a horrific accident in a peroxide factory, and big brown eyes that looked so naïve it was untrue. _God_ knew what had led her to a hellhole like _this_.

She let her eyes move over the group that were now crowding her. Ky had scooted closer to her to allow room for Jumper on his left - a detail that she hadn't noticed until now and immediately started her nails digging once again at her cuticles. Ky was short, probably not even hitting five nine, and built like a teenaged boy with unruly black hair.

Jumper was small too, but in a more... _sculptured_ way than Ky, with lean, strong arms bracing his weight on the table. He was dark-skinned, probably Hispanic, and his smoky grey eyes fixed onto her, seriously, like he was considering an interesting maths equation or something.

Caden was... exactly the way she had expected him to be. White, brown hair, brown eyes, and muscles that spilled out of his ridiculous white top.

Rebecca continued observing them, aware that they were doing exactly the same back.

Ky considered her for a moment, "Mm. Pretty, aint she."

"Gorgeous." Ray-Ray replied, giving her a small, amiable smile, "Come on, then, what you here for, darling?"

Caden leant forwards, smirking, "Bet she's a killa. Look at 'er, you can see it in'er eyes. She's a killa."

Rebecca shook her head, immediately, "I'm not a killer."

He sat back again in his surprise, "Aw, she _speaks_! _There's_ a good little killa..."

"I haven't killed _any_one." She repeated, quietly.

"Then what the hell you doin' _here_?" Ky asked, frowning quizzically, as if genuinely curious, "We're all murderers _here_, darlin'. So why are _you_ here."

She drew a short breath, "I... I'm a paranoid schizophrenic. If you _must_ know."

The reaction she got wasn't what she had expected. Usually, when those two magic words came out, people would flinch back as if it were contagious, and then make a hasty retreat, still glancing at her over their shoulders.

Ky, however, laughed, "_Paranoid schizo_, well, you aint the first. Just another nut-job in the asylum, hey?"

She paused, surprised, "Yes. Yes, I suppose I am."

Jumper nodded at her plate, "How you coping with the food?"

She hesitated, and then glanced down at it. Then she looked back up, "Not bad, actually."

"God, she really _is_ a nut-job," Ray-Ray teased, smiling, "This stuff is worse than at Gotham General!"

"Like damned cafeteria food." Ky agreed.

Rebecca shrugged, "I kinda liked cafeteria food." Even Jumper laughed, in his weird, thoughtful way. She gave a small, hesitant smile, "Yeah. I _am_ crazy."

"So, now you're talking..." Caden brushed a hand across hers, smiling as she resolutely pulled it back, "What they call you, honey?"

She looked at him, "Rebecca."

"Becky?" Ky asked.

"_Not_ Becky," she replied, firmly, "_Rebecca_."

"Becks?" he tried again, smiling mischievously.

"_No_." She repeated, "_Rebecca_."

"I hate Rebecca." He said, casually.

"Well, I'm stuck with it and so are you."

"Hell, _I'm_ not." He glanced at his friends, "What should we call her?"

"I suppose babe is out of the question."

"Caden." Jumper growled, warningly.

He smiled, "Cool it, big guy. What about Red?"

"I like Red." Ray-Ray said, neutrally.

"Red's fine." The kid agreed.

"Fine. Red it is." Caden glanced at her, "Unless you've got a problem with that, course."

She raised an eyebrow, "No, no problem. I mean, why would I feel offence to someone calling me by my hair colour? Hell, we should call her Blonde! You Brown! Him Black!"

"He's _Hispanic_, racist cow." Ky said, laughing, whilst Jumper just rolled his eyes, wearily.

Ray-Ray laughed, "Yeah, honey, just 'cause you're gorgeous don't mean you can go round flinging insults."

Caden shook his head, "Hell, she gives me half an hour with her and she can call me whatever the fuck she likes."

Ky put up a finger, "Nuh-uh, mate, you just keep your hands off. The word is that Crane's got his claws into _this_ little one _already_..."

"Oh, _has_ he?" the blonde asked, looking horrified, "Oh, you poor thing!"

Rebecca shrugged, "I think Doctor Crane's... nice."

They all stared at her, "You _what_?" Ray-Ray asked, finally.

"He's... okay."

Ky looked at her, bewildered, "You _are_ freakin' mental."

"I _am_ in an asylum." She pointed out, wryly.

"But he's a _monster_!" the girl protested again.

She shook her head, "What are you _talking_ about?"

Caden laughed, grimly, "Never mind. You'll find out eventually, girl..."

"Hm." Rebecca put the last spoon of porridge into her mouth and stood up, raising an eyebrow at them, "And here I was thinking _I_ was the paranoid one. See you around?"

There was an assorted bunch of replies, consisting of a wave from Ky, a wink from Caden, a nod from Jumper, and a 'see ya!' from Ray-Ray.

Rebecca moved away from the table, dumping her tray where the others seemed to be putting them. She thought about her first real conversation with murdering convicts. On reflection, she decided it had gone rather well.

She moved towards the cafeteria door, not for the first time very glad that she was such a fast eater - the hall was practically empty. She moved swiftly, once again feeling gazes prickle like heat on her back and neck, but, somehow, finding it much easier this time around.

"Red! Hey, Red, wait up!"

She turned back, wearily, "Are you guys really _calling_ me that now?"

Ray-Ray hesitated. Then she shook her head, "Look, I know you probably don't like some random stranger tellin' you what to do, but just promise me one thing, yeah?"

"What."

"Just... be careful."


	8. Chapter 8: The First Straw

**Chapter 8: The First Straw**

Rebecca was lost. She looked around her, glancing over the empty corridors, cursing herself viciously inside her head for not listening to Nurse Rodriguez when she could have done. A door behind her burst open and she reflexively retreated back round the corner, her heart missing a few beats as the sound of rowdy footsteps clattered down the far too thin hallway.

_Calm. Calm down. Deep breaths, Rebecca._

She waited until the hall was silent again, and then turned back, looking around her. Hell. You'd think they'd have a _map_, or something. Like on boats, or shops, or hospitals -_ real_ hospitals. _First floor for casualty. Second floor for minor burns unit. Third floor for paranoid schizophrenia_.

"Rebecca Lauren Wells," she muttered, quietly, repeating the nurse's words to herself, "Room thirteen. E-block."

Except she didn't even know what block she was in _now_, let _alone_ where _E_-block was. A male orderly moved past her, giving her a small, curious smile, and she cringed back into the wall. The last thing she needed was some over-friendly nurse with the best intentions, trying to help her, getting too close, putting a hand on her shoulder.

She shuddered, and then shook her head, firmly, trying to pull herself back together.

_Hey. This place can't be __**that**__ big, right? Just keep walking. Eventually you've __**got**__ to find E-block, right?_

Yeah. Yeah, that made sense. After all, this place was hardly Wal-Mart. It had to end _some_where.

**I dunno. It looked kinda big from the outside. And what about... the **_**inmates**_**. Don't wanna bump into one of **_**them**_** on your own, **_**do**_** ya?**

"You know what, you have an astounding ability to make me doubt myself." She muttered, resentfully.

**Nope, sorry, Becks. **_**You**_** do that. Not me.**

She cursed under her breath. Then she shook her head, randomly taking a left at the next corridor, glancing around as the walls changed from their pale, pastel blue to a similarly watery yellow. They reminded her of her room back in Trenton Psych, and her stomach clenched. She didn't know whether it was annoyance at an old taste of 'home' or panic because she had never been down here before.

_**Calm**__. Cool it. It's fine. You can just... __**ask**__ someone. Ask someone where you are. It'll be easy._

**You **_**think**_**?** The other voice spat, maliciously, **You really think **_**any**_**thing is easy in this place?**

Rebecca shook her head, "Will you guys please stop your damned bickering, you're giving me a headache."

"Voices coming a bit too loud for you, sweetheart?"

* * *

Rebecca spun round on her heel, her heart reflexively pounding.

"Whoa, whoa, sorry, didn't mean to scare ya."

The speaker was a tall, white man, dressed from head to toe in what looked like black leather, right from a polo neck top down to thin black gloves. He had long blonde hair, spiked up with gel, and dark, smoky eyes. A long scar ran underneath his bottom lip, parallel to it. A burn.

His eyes moved over her, quickly, and then back up to her eyes, "What you doin' here."

She hesitated.

_Do it. One step at a time. Open your mouth. Ask him. _

"I..." she glanced around herself, and then back to him, "Getting lost." She admitted, slowly.

"What you lookin' for?"

"E-block. You know it?"

He stayed quiet for a long time. Rebecca stood still, uneasily, and was just about to suggest she ask someone else when he opened his mouth: "E-block. You're new then, huh?"

She nodded, nervously, "Mmhm. First day."

"Hmm. Welcome to Arkham High." His eyes flittered over her, calculating, and he licked the scar underneath his lip, compulsively, "You a joint virgin, then, darlin'?"

She frowned, "What?"

"A joint virgin," he repeated, "A new'un. Someone who aint been in a joint before."

"No, I... I just transferred here from Trenton."

"Trenton Psych? Mercer County?" she nodded, and he copied the motion, thoughtfully, "Spent a bit of time in there myself. Long time ago."

"Right." She replied, slowly.

There was another long, awkward silence.

"Well." Rebecca began, uncomfortably, "Thanks. I'll just -"

"You said you wanted E-block?"

"Yeah." She said, after a slight pause.

"Come here."

She paused for a long time. Then, reluctantly, she moved forwards a little.

The guy shook his head, impatiently, "What, you scared of catching a cold? _Closer_."

She moved closer, and he took a few steps to his left so he was on her right. He pointed up the corridor she had just come down from, "Go up there. One two three _third_ left. Take the stairs down. Ground floor. First right, follow that round. That's E-block." He glanced at her, "Okay?"

She ran it through: "Up there, third left, stairs to ground floor, first right." She nodded, "Yeah, I got it. Thanks."

"Wanna know how you can pay me back?"

Before she could even register what he had said he had taken one simple step to the right, cornering her.

The man put his hands on her waist and she found she couldn't move, couldn't _breathe_.

He moved his lips closer to her ear, "How long's it been since you been touched, hey? How long's it been."

She didn't reply, her heart caught in her chest. She just stared at him, frozen in place. The man ran his hands up and down, his eyes flickering over her body, "Mos' people don't liketa touch schizos, do they. 'Cause they're scared. _I'm_ not scared." He looked at her, his tongue flickering over his lips again. Then he leaned closer, "Wanna see my scars?"

"Mr Lynns?"

* * *

They both glanced around.

Doctor Nowell stood at the end of the corridor, watching them closely, "What are you doing here."

Nonchalantly, Lynns took a step away from her, turning to the doctor, "Just goin' outside to have a smoke, Doc." A grin moved over his lips, "Got a light?"

Andrea raised an eyebrow, moving closer, "I'm afraid I don't, Garfield. And if there truly is someone in this place stupid enough to give _you_ a cigarette then I will do everything in my power to make sure that this time next year the idiot will be _sharing_ a cell with you. Understood?"

He nodded, "Yes, Doc."

"Good. Now get back to your room."

"Sure. See ya later, Doc." He glanced back at Rebecca, who still stood stock still against the wall, eyes wide. He smirked, licking the scar again, "And you. See you later."

Lynns paused for a second, and then turned, slinking away up the corridor.

Rebecca finally took a breath. She let it out, and then took another one. She let out a low whimper and closed her eyes, letting her head fall back against the wall.

"Rebecca." The voice was soft, gentle, "Are you okay."

She kept her eyes firmly closed, and shook her head.

She heard those quiet, clipping footsteps coming towards her, "Did he hurt you?"

"No. No, he just... he just... touched me. And not... not like that, just... just on my waist."

"Where he touched you doesn't matter. What matters is you didn't want to be touched."

"Who was he?"

There was a rustle as she leant against the wall next to her, "Garfield Lynns. Known to his friends as 'Firefly'. He's a pyromaniac."

"The scar?"

"Arson gone wrong. They cover his entire body, except his face, where he's just got that one mark. He has to be fully covered, no matter what the weather." She was close now, and Rebecca opened her eyes, looking at her. Hazel eyes met hers - serious, concerned. "What are you doing here?"

"I... I got lost. On the way back to my room, I got lost."

"Mm. Must've got lost pretty bad. You're in J-block."

"Really? Y'know... they should at _least_ have signs."

Andrea smiled. Then she looked at her again, in that calming, searching way she did. "I'm here to help, Rebecca."

Rebecca looked at her.

"_Rebecca. I know you don't hurt people. I know you won't hurt me, Rebecca. I'm your friend."  
_"_You're lying."  
_"_No."  
_"_Yes."  
_"_I just want to help you, Rebecca. Please. I just want to help you."_

"I had a dream about you." She blurted out without thinking. She blushed a little as she realised what she had said, but didn't back down or correct it, knowing she'd only be digging herself holes.

Andrea raised an eyebrow, not at all perturbed, "Did you? That's nice."

"It wasn't a nice dream."

A small, curious frown moved over her face, and she nodded, "Okay. Tell me."

She hesitated for a second.

"_I don't hurt people."  
__**She wants to hurt **_**you**_**, Rebecca. She wants to hurt you. Teach her. Teach her not to hurt you. Stop her.**_

"I... I was going to get out," she said, slowly, "You... you were in my way. I... put a kitchen knife to my throat. You opened the fire escape. And then... I don't know what happened, they were just... _screaming_ at me, and I took the knife from my throat and... and moved it towards yours."

"Hm." She said, thoughtfully, "And then?"

"Then I..." she trailed off, shaking her head.

"_I can't."  
__**You can.  
**_"_I __**can't**__."  
_"_You wouldn't, Rebecca. I __**know**__ you. You wouldn't."  
_"_Shut up! Just __**shut**__ up!"  
__**Kill her! **_**Do**_** it! **_**DO IT**_**!**_

"I was going to do it," she whispered, moving her eyes down to the floor, too scared, too ashamed to hold her gaze, "I _know_ I was going to do it. Someone stopped me. But if they hadn't..."

"_Rebecca. You're __**stronger**__ than them."  
_"_No. I'm not."_

There was a moment of silence. Then Nowell nodded again, thoughtfully, "Well. I must say. You must be the first person who's ever admitted to dreaming about killing me."

Rebecca glanced up immediately at her tone, "You're _lying_ to me. Don't _lie_ to me."

"Actually, Rebecca, it was a _joke_." She looked at her for a moment, and then shook her head, "Okay. Let's be serious then. You had the knife. You were near me. Where were you thinking of going for? The neck? The throat? The heart?"

She shook her head, hesitantly, "I..."

"Come on, you must have known. You must have known what you were aiming for. Maybe you were thinking of going for the stomach. But it takes quite some time to die after a wound to the stomach, a few hours, at the most, would you have the guts to do that? To watch me die? Slowly, painfully?"

Rebecca winced, closing her eyes, "No."

"Okay, so the heart or the throat. Completely honest I'm not altogether sure which would cause the most bleeding. I suppose it depends how far you pushed the blade in. If you got in deep enough into the heart, of course, blood'd be spraying all over you, arterial bleed, it'd cover from one end of the room to the other."

She shook her head again, feeling sick, "Doctor Nowell. Stop."

"But the _throat_, now _that's_ a tricky one. You have to cut deep, _very_ deep, you don't want to just cut the trachea and not get the artery. Course, I'd die either way, but a cut trachea is like drowning, drowning on your own blood, _another_ slow one."

"Doctor."

"So you'd have to do it with one hell of a lot of force, really _shove_ the knife in there, get it right through the muscle, maybe right through the bone, then, I suppose, if you got it right the way through it would cut straight through the spinal cord anyway, and then -"

"_Doctor Nowell_!"

* * *

Doctor Nowell stopped, raising an eyebrow at her.

"Please." She whispered, pure white, feeling like she was going to hurl any second, "Stop."

Andrea paused for a second, looking at her. Then she shook her head and took the girl's hand, "Rebecca. I was trying to prove a point. _Look_ at yourself. You look like you're going to be sick just _hearing_ this stuff. You really think you're capable of doing it in real life?"

Rebecca hesitated. She glanced down at her hands. She was shaking. Slowly, she looked back up at her.

Doctor Nowell gave a small, soft smile, "You see?"

"You..." her voice failed her and she cleared her throat, trying again: "You told me I couldn't hurt anyone."

"And it's true."

"That you just wanted to help me."

"And that's true too." They looked at each other for a moment, and then the doctor gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze, "Come on. Let's go."

She automatically obeyed, falling into step beside her, "Where are we going?"

"To Doctor Crane's. I think you should tell him about this dream you had."

"Why?"

She glanced at her, obviously catching the unease in her voice, but not commenting, "Because I think he'll want to know." She let a small pause ring, not awkwardly, and then shook her head, "He cares about you, Rebecca. He wants to help you too."

"He shut the door."

The doctor glanced at her, "And did he open it again?"

"Yeah."

"Well. That's human error, Rebecca. He didn't know. You're not gonna blame him for that, are you?"

There was a slight pause. "No." She replied, reluctantly seeing her point, "No. No, I... No."

"Good. That's good, Rebecca. You _are_ making progress, and it's only been a day. That's very encouraging." They kept walking for a second, "Do you want me to talk to Lynns for you?"

"No," she replied, quickly, "No, I'll be fine."

"You're sure?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm sure."

"Okay," the nurse looked at her for a second, and then turned her attention to the stairs they were climbing, "But, if you change your mind... I'm here."

Rebecca nodded, numbly. She would take that offer. Because, if there was one thing she had learned from all these months... all these whispers... moods could change in a second. She could be dangerous. And, after last night... let's just say she wanted to keep her voices in their place: in her head.


	9. Chapter 9: Keeping Control

**Chapter 9: Keeping Control**

Doctor Crane looked at the girl in front of him, thoughtfully, "So you didn't actually kill her. You were stopped."

"Yes."

"Who stopped you?"

Wells hesitated for a second, long enough for him to know that she was lying when she said: "I can't remember."

He nodded, not commenting on the lie, instead filling it away in his notes as something to think about. He paused for a moment, thinking it through, and then glanced at her again, "How did you feel when this was about to happen? When your head was trying to convince you to kill her?"

She shook her head, a small spark of frustration moving over her face, "I was damned _terrified_. I don't kill people, Doctor Crane, even when I go through the worst stages of psychosis, I've never killed anyone. Cuts and bruises and one dislocated shoulder is the worst anyone's got out of me, and that was because they were stupid enough to lock the door. I _don't kill_ people."

"Why is the distinction so important to you?"

"Because I have to keep control. Because it's the difference between a psychiatric hospital and a psychiatric asylum. It's the difference between nut-job and insane. It's the difference between insane and dangerous." She looked at him for a second, seemingly calming down a little, "I don't want to hurt people, Doctor Crane. And the fact that it's in my dreams... it's making me edgy."

"Hm." Crane shifted in his chair, jotting down everything she had said, "Do you know what the trigger was? For the dream? Were you thinking about anything before you went to sleep, were you angry, frustrated?" he paused a beat, "_Scared_?"

"I don't remember. Scared, I suppose."

"Why."

She shrugged, "Because I'm in a new place? New room? New faces? Because I'm a schizophrenic? I don't know, pick one." She shook her head and cleared her throat, grimacing slightly as she did, and then nodded at the burning oil on his desk, "Is that... _incense_?

Crane looked at her, "I got it a few days ago. What do you think?"

"I think you need to get your money back."

He smiled slightly. Then he went back to his notes, "Miss Wells, I'd like you to write a diary of your dreams. Every detail, everything you remember. Okay?"

She hesitated again, "I... I'm not comfortable with that."

He raised an eyebrow, "Why not?"

"My dreams are... private. There are some things..." she trailed off, her eyes flickering once again to the door. Crane's eyes followed the movement. It was open just a crack this time, not nearly as much as she'd wanted, and it was obvious it was making her uneasy. Her eyes moved back to his and she shook her head, slowly, "I don't think I'd be able to write them down."

"Maybe a video diary?" he prompted, gently, "Would that be easier?"

She shook her head, "No, you don't understand. It's not the way of telling them. It's the _physical describing_. Telling my dreams. Sometimes I don't remember anything physical, sometimes I just remember... emotions. Or maybe a _colour_ or something, a _place_, a _name_, it's not - not _describable_. It's impossible."

Crane sighed. He shook his head and laid down his pen next to the notepad, adjusting it automatically to be parallel, "I'm not known for mincing my words, Miss Wells -"

"Yeah, gathered that." She muttered under her breath.

"- so let me be frank. I need to know what you see in these dreams. I need to know, so that I can help you. I need to know what it is you fear, so I can help you figure out _why_ it is that you fear. Do you understand?"

She looked at him for a second, and, just for a second, Crane thought he saw a flicker of suspicion in her eyes. Then it was gone, "Yes, doctor. But... I don't know if I _can_."

He paused for a moment, looking at her. Then he glanced back down at his pad, frowning, "Why were you with Doctor Nowell?"

"Sorry?"

"Your therapy session isn't until tomorrow. Doctor Nowell was in J-block - your room is right the other side of the building. Why were you there?"

Wells shook her head, "I... I got lost."

"And you bumped into Doctor Nowell?"

"Yes."

"Who _else_ found you?"

"Sorry?" she repeated, frowning.

"Who _else_ found you." He repeated, calmly, looking at her, watching her surprise, her confusion, "Who else did you meet in that corridor."

"How..." she said, shakily, "How did you..."

He raised an eyebrow, and didn't answer. In reality, Doctor Nowell had sent him a page about what had gone on in J-block between her and Lynns, but there was no need for her to know that. Better she thought that he just... _knew_ her.

The girl shook her head, hesitantly, "I... I asked this guy for directions. Lynns, Garfield Lynns."

"Really. And, can I ask, why do you sound so cautious when you say his name?"

"He... well, he..." she took in a deep breath, "He touched me."

He looked at her, "How."

"Just on the waist, nothing... nothing like that."

"Right." He scribbled some notes, "You have intimacy issues?"

"_Intimacy_?" she repeated, sceptically, "Is _that_ what we're calling it nowadays?" she sighed, "Look. Lynns was a greasy, slimy, disgusting little psychopath. I'm angry at him now, but at the time... when I didn't know what was going to happen..."

He waited for her to finish the sentence. But she didn't. He paused for a second, and then nodded, "Okay."

Crane took some notes and then glanced up, looking at her for a moment, calculatingly. She was wearing the collared green top from yesterday, but had changed her blue jeans for a pair of skinny black ones, and the sneakers for a pair of red, imitation converse. A part of his mind noted just how delicious the redhead looked wearing those tight pants, but he ignored it, deftly, returning to the session, "He had you against the wall, didn't he?"

A shudder racked the girl's body, and Crane's eyes locked onto it. She was so close. _So_ close. She didn't answer.

Crane reached out to the burner on his desk, slipping it up a notch. Then he looked back at her, raising an eyebrow, "Well? Did he?"

"He... he cornered me," she replied, weakly, "He... moved closer - I didn't think anything of it, but then... then he cornered me."

"Mm. And then he put his hands... on your waist."

"Yes."

"Did you think he was going to hurt you? That he was going to kiss you?" her reaction was slight, so he upped his game: "That he was going to _rape_ you?"

Another deep shudder, this one much more noticeable. Her hands were clenched on the arms of the leather chair, her jaw tight, her chest heaving with quick, shallow breaths. He could tell her little heart was beginning to pound. She was twitching, glancing round not just at the door, at the room around her, her face full of emotion as she listened to whatever the hell was going on in her head.

Crane leaned closer, "Are you alright? You seem... _distracted_."

She shook her head, "I... I'm _fine_! I just..." she let her eyes flicker closed, "Oh shit. Shit, I think I'm triggering."

He stiffened a little, ready, "What do you see."

"Oh shit. _Shit_." She was up from her chair in one swift movement, storming over to the door, wrenching it open all the way. For a second he thought she was going to bolt, but apparently the wider exit was all that she wanted and she retreated back into the room again, shaking her head, pacing, muttering to herself something that he couldn't hear.

Crane got to his feet, smoothly, moving over to her, and she immediately balked back, "Stay away. Please. Stay away from me."

"Why." He asked, calmly.

She gave a small, slightly hysterical laugh, "For your _own_ safety, doc, just stay the hell away from me."

"You're triggering? What do you see."

She shook her head, resolutely, returning to her pacing. She was murmuring again, and now he was close enough to hear snatches of what she was saying.

Twenty-seven. Thirty-six. Forty-five. Fifty-four. Sixty-three.

Nines? She was doing her nine times table. _Why_.

Crane moved closer again and this time she seemed to snap. She fell back against the wall, sliding down to the floor, rocking in the corner, head tucked down between her knees, her breathing now completely out of control, shaking, "God. No. The Lord's my shepherd, I... I shall not want. He... he makes me lie down in green pastures. He... leads me beside still waters, he restores my soul."

He raised an eyebrow, "_What_ did you say?"

"No. Please, _God_, no! He leads me in the paths of righteousness for his name's sake. And... and though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil for you art with me your rod and your staff, they, they comfort me." She was speaking so quickly now, reeling off these words, all of them joining together, putting her hands over her head so she was cocooned into the corner, "You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies you anoint my head with oil my cup runs over. God... Oh shit. It's not real. It's not real. It's not real, Rebecca, it's... it's not... Oh shit, _no_!"

He fell to his knees in front of her, impatiently, grabbing her wrist as she tried to yank it away from him, "What do you see."

"It's not real." She said, her voice high and strained, almost a whimper.

"_What's_ not real."

"It's not real."

The flash of impatience grew and his grip tightened, "_What's_ not real, Rebecca, _tell_ me, _what do you __**see**_?"

She stopped shaking, stopped rocking. She looked up at him for a second. Her face was pure white. "Not in front of him." She said, quietly. Then she passed out.

* * *

Crane gave a low hiss of frustration, letting her go and getting sharply to his feet. He walked over to his desk and turned off the burner, quickly going to shut the door and open the windows. He couldn't have any of the stuff leaking through the hospital, not undocumented.

Doctor Crane turned back to the girl, slumped against the wall, her knees still up by her chest. He paused for a moment, giving himself time to calm. So the first test had gone a little wrong. That was okay. They had plenty of time for repeat experiments. He would get his desired results.

He thought about what had just happened, and, along with the frustration, felt the familiar burn of curiosity. The way she had reacted to the toxin had surprised him. It was almost... _tame_. She was so _calm_. Of course, she wouldn't have thought that _herself_, but she didn't scream, didn't yell out, didn't cry... she just... _counted_... and quoted Psalms.

Crane let out a low breath. This one was interesting. _Very_ interesting. He knew right from that second that he'd do pretty much anything to find out what she had seen, from the second she looked at him, and - what did she say? _'Not in front of him.'_ So many questions could come from the one statement. Questions he was itching to know the answers to.

Doctor Crane shook his head. He took the pager off his belt and sent a quick message for a few orderlies to come and collect the completely unconscious Miss Wells and then sat down, picking up his notebook. He had a lot of things to think about.


	10. Chapter 10: Voices

**Chapter 10:**** Voices**

"Oi, Red! Hey! Yeah, you! Get yer fine ass over here, girl."

Rebecca moved over to their table, rolling her eyes, "_Must_ you call me Red?"

"Yep." Caden replied, promptly, smirking.

Ray-Ray shot her a warm smile, "We missed you at lunch. What were you up to?"

She hesitated. _Oh, nothing. Just passed out on my bed after having a 'nut-job extraordinaire'..._

"Oh, I just... crashed out. Really tired."

"I heard Crane pulled you in again." Ky said, slowly.

She shook her head, "Yeah, but that wasn't long, only half an hour or so."

"Right." The kid paused, awkwardly, staring at her, "So... how'd it go?"

She shrugged, playing with her food, not at all hungry, "Not bad, I suppose."

"Not bad." Jumper repeated, softly, "Nothing special, then, huh."

"No. Nothing special."

Ray-Ray shook her head, disbelieving, "You're sayin' he didn't try _nothin'_ on you in that room?"

She shook her head, "Like _what_?"

"Like he didn't try... didn't tryda..."

"Did he... try you out with the new medication?" Ky asked, hesitantly.

"New medication?" Rebecca thought about it, "No, I don't think so."

"Did... anything... _different_ happen?"

"No. Nothing."

_Apart from me going all schizo on the poor sod and freaking out in a corner_. She completed, silently, _God, I feel sorry for him. He must think I'm a complete nut-job..._

"You not hungry?" Ray-Ray asked, after a short pause, nodding down at her untouched plate.

Rebecca glanced down. Just the _thought_ of food made her feel sick. Must be the Clozapine kicking in again...

"Wells?"

* * *

She glanced up, catching the eyes of the orderly to her right. She hesitated, and then nodded, "That's me."

"Here." He said, stiffly, handing her a piece of card with writing on, "New schedule for ya."

"But I got my schedule yesterday."

"Yeah," he replied, shaking his head as if he was talking to an idiot, "And here's a _new_ one. Don't lose it, there's a good freak."

"I beg your pardon?" she asked, raising her eyebrows, genuinely surprised.

Ray-Ray dug her in the ribs with an elbow and she flinched before frowning at her, "What -"

The girl was shaking her head, meaningfully, shooting small glances up at the orderly behind her. Rebecca frowned again, her gaze moving over the others. They all had their eyes firmly on their trays, eating, silently.

She moved her eyes back to the orderly, for the first time really looking at him. He reminded her of a bloodhound, a hunting dog, quite short, shorter even than Ky, and thickly built beneath his blue scrubs. He had dark, hooded eyes, almost as dark as hers, contrasting with his white skin. His hair was brown and short, like an army cut.

Rebecca glanced at Ray-Ray, frowning slightly, curiously, and then back to the orderly in front of her, who was still watching her with a disgusted expression on his face, "I said don't lose it. Something you didn't understand, freak?"

She raised an eyebrow again. Rebecca couldn't help but feel angry. After the complete psych-out she'd had only a few hours ago the voices still hadn't quite faded, and they were screaming in her head. Slowly, she felt the anger drowning out her fear, and, more importantly, her common sense.

"Yes, actually," she said, quietly, dangerously, feeling the most prominent voice sink into place with an almost audible click, "I don't understand your tone. I've only been here one day. Have I upset you _already_?"

"You got a problem with the way I speak to you, freak?"

Ray-Ray had put her hand on her knee and was now squeezing, tight enough to hurt, begging her to leave it, to drop it.

She ignored her: "You know what, I'm not a freak. I've got schizophrenia. It's an _illness_, not a deformity. And if you want to see what that illness _consists_ of, then I suggest you keep talking."

He moved closer to her, leaning down, the table creaking slightly as he braced his weight on his hands either side of her, "Was that a _threat_, freak? You've got some fucking nerve."

Actually, inside her, Rebecca was shaking at his sudden proximity. But Rebecca wasn't in charge anymore. "Yeah. I fucking have. So why don't you just back the hell off."

"I'd shut up, _Wells_, before you get yourself hurt."

"You know what, _bite_ me."

"Don't tempt me." He growled. She raised an eyebrow, and he moved one of his hands, taking her by the chin, roughly. His grip was strong, _very_ strong. He stroked her cheek. "Pretty little freak, aren't you? Wonder how well you fuck."

"_Try_ me." She said, her voice deadly quiet, fire burning in her eyes.

He watched her for a second. Then he pulled back, releasing her, roughly. He straightened up, glancing her over, "I'll be seeing you later, freak. _Count_ on it."

She didn't give him the satisfaction of a reply, instead giving him a look that said '_will_ you now...' and turning back to her tray, nonchalantly. The orderly paused, and then stormed off.

"Red," Ray-Ray whispered, weakly, "What are you _doing_? Do you know what you just _did_?"

"Probably not." She replied, offhand, swirling her fork round in her food.

"You just guaranteed yourself a late-night call from the toughest prick in Arkham." Caden said, grimly.

"Red, come _on_, are you _suicidal_?" Ky asked, looking pale.

"Not particularly. Anyway. If he wanted something he'd have taken it right now."

"Warrick always waits," Ray-Ray corrected, shaking her head, "He makes you wait. To keep you edgy."

"Why on earth would he go through so much trouble to make a _schizophrenic_ _**edgy**_?" she scoffed, "Come on, all he's gotta do with _me_ is shut a damned _door_!"

"Rebecca," Jumper said, quietly, "You've got to be careful here. This place isn't Trenton. You're going to get yourself killed."

"I'm sure I'll be fine," she replied, shaking her head, taking in a spoonful of whatever muck it was on her plate before grimacing and putting her cutlery down. She shook her head, disgustedly, "Shit. I fucking _hate_ cafeteria food. See you guys around." She got to her feet, leaving her tray where it was, and left, unaware of the concerned eyes on her back.

* * *

"_What the __**fuck**__ did you do __**that**__ for_?"

The voice laughed, **Oh, **_**come**_** on, Becks, have a little **_**adventure**_** in your life!**

"You're fucking _insane_!"

She could imagine rolled eyes: **Said the pot to the kettle, hon, said the pot to the kettle.**

"At least I _know_ it! For the love of God, the _one time_ you decide to poke your goddamned head in is the time you're needed least! If you'd have just kept quiet that freak-hating prick would have just passed us by, but _no_, you've gotta open your mouth!"

**Well, y'know, technically, it was **_**you**_**.**

"_Technically_?" she turned round, smashing a fist into the wall, "_Fuck_ technicality!"

**Ooh, darling, you're sounding more and more like me every day...**

"Shut the _fuck_ up! You're gonna get us _killed_!"

**I doubt he'd **_**kill**_** us, Becks.**

"Yeah, well there are worse things then dying."

**As you would know.**

She froze. Her anger immediately disappeared. She shook her head, slowly, "Don't."

**Don't **_**what**_**. Don't remind you? Don't talk about it?** She could imagine the person shaking her head, disgustedly, **You're pathetic. Hiding away from the past. Refusing to acknowledge what happened to you.**

"How dare you judge me," she whispered, shakily, "You don't know what happened. You weren't there."

**No. But **_**you**_** were. I know what happened to you **_**through you**_**.**

"That is _nothing_ to experiencing it!"

**You're a **_**coward**_**!**

"I'm not a coward. I don't remember."

**You **_**do**_**. And you **_**know**_** you do.**

"I _don't_! I don't _remember_! I blocked it all out, I, I don't -"

_**Save**_** it. Just who the fuck d'you think you're talking to here. I... **_**am**_** you. I know everything you do. **_**Every**__**single detail**_**.**

She sat down, closing her eyes, "What are you saying."

**I'm saying maybe you should be negotiating. You want peace and quiet? You want to keep your perfect little ignorance? 'Cause if you **_**do**_** then you better start listening to what **_**I**_** say for once.**

"You're just... a _voice_. You're some sick part of my subconscious, just a fragmented segment. You're _nothing_!"

**Oh, but I'm not. Not if I've got that power over you, Becks. You start being a little nicer to me, and, I promise, I'll never say a word of what happened that day. That day back in your house. New Year's Eve. When -**

"Stop." She interrupted, sharply.

**Oh, you don't want to know? Don't want to hear it? Because I know it all, Becks. I know every detail.**

"Stop it."

**I know how they got into your house.**

"Stop."

**I know how you **_**helped**_** them.**

"_Stop_."

**How you tried to protect him, how they kept him busy, how they kept **_**you**_** busy, and then, when they were done, how they went back downstairs and -**

"_Please_!" she said, quickly, tears threatening, "Don't."

There was a long pause.

**Okay. **The voice said, finally, **Okay. Alright, Rebecca. I've stopped.**

"What... do you want," she managed, shaking her head, covering her eyes with her palms, "What do you want."

**I want a bit more freedom. I want a bit more space. A bit more influence. I want you to **_**listen**_** to me every once in a while.**

"Okay. Alright."

**And one more thing.**

"What."

She paused. **I want a name.**


	11. Chapter 11: Different Faces

**Chapter 11: Different Faces**

_Saturday, October 3__rd__._

"What did you call her?"

Rebecca shook her head, smiling, wryly, "She named _herself_. Eve." He frowned a little, and she nodded, "Yeah. I suppose you've heard of the Thigpen and Cleckley experiment, right? The MPD experiment? The Three Faces of Eve? She thought it would be appropriate. The other one - the other most _prominent_ one, anyway - has now started calling herself _Jane_. Eve thinks it's bullshit that she's the sensible, all-knowing one. God, the _fights_ they have because of it..."

Crane nodded, thoughtfully, jotting away in that fucking irritating notepad of his. He glanced back up at her, "And have you allowed her more space? _Eve_, that is."

She gave a small smile. **You have no idea, sweetheart...**

_Oi,_ Rebecca scolded, firmly, _I said not in therapy. Keep to the deal._

**Fine, fine, whatever you say...**

_Thank you._

She shook her head again, "I have. A lot." Then she glanced down, meaningfully, "But she's not very aware of the _rules_."

"You set rules?"

"Of course I did. The first was that she quit trying to get me into trouble with the guys here. The second was that she stayed out of therapy."

"Why?"

She shook her head, "I need to concentrate in therapy. I need to know what thoughts are mine. She said she'd shut herself away, half an hour a day, not much to ask."

"Of course." He paused for a second, "What _did_ Eve threaten you with, you never said."

Rebecca hesitated. No. She hadn't. She _also_ had conveniently left out how that lovely conversation had _started_. It had been twelve days since Warrick had made his little promise, and, at the moment, he was a no-show. On the flipside, _Eve_ _**had**_ kept her promise. No more words of that night had been spoken, not even a hint. Things were working out okay. Why spoil them now?

"Just... y'know, the usual. Slowly tearing apart my life from the inside. Taking over when I'm not expecting it... _God_ knows what havoc she could pull when she's pissed."

**Thanks, darling.**

"Eve, I said _not in therapy_! _Go_."

There was silence, and Crane was watching her. She blushed a little, despite herself, and shrugged, awkwardly, "Sorry."

"There's nothing to apologise for." He thought for a moment, "Tell me, Miss Wells, in your psychology lessons, did you do any Freud?"

"Unfortunately, yes."

"Unfortunately?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

She let out a low groan, "Oh, you're not a _Freudian_, are you?"

"He makes some valid points." He replied, stiffly, "He practically _created_ psychotherapy, psychoanalysing."

"But _apart_ from that he was a complete nut-job who changed his whole thesis at the first sign of criticism. He was a _coward_." She shook her head, "I'm much more inclined to _Jung_, personally."

He settled, "But you do _remember_ Freud?"

"Yes."

"Do you remember the three parts of the human consciousness?" she frowned, and he shook his head, "The ego, the superego -"

"And the id, yes, sorry, yeah, I remember. Why?"

"Which would you say was Eve?"

"The inner desire." she replied, instantly.

"And Jane?"

There she hesitated, "I... I don't know. I mean, sometimes I think she's trying to help... other times... I don't know."

"Hm. Now. Do either Jane or Eve ever try to convince you to talk about your past? About what happened to you?"

Rebecca looked at him.

_**Fuck**_**, that's spooky. **Eve whispered, quietly.

_I said not in therapy._ She objected, half-heartedly. Her attention was on what Crane had just said.

**Sweetheart, right now I'm the **_**least**_** of your problems, **she pointed out, **Now just where the hell is he going with this.**

"Miss Wells," he continued, after waiting for a few moments for her to answer, "I've told you before that I'm not known for mincing my words."

"_So let me be frank._" She completed in a passable attempt at his cultured voice.

A small smile moved over his lips, "Exactly. I want to examine you."

She frowned, "Isn't that what you've been doing for the last week?"

"I meant a _physical_ examination."

Immediately she shook her head, "No. _No_, Doctor Crane. No. I can't. I just, I just... _can't_."

He raised an eyebrow, "Miss Wells, I believe you misunderstood me. I was _not_ asking for your _permission_."

* * *

Rebecca stared at him. It took some screaming at from her 'id' to get her to open her mouth. "What... what are you talking about."

Crane tilted his head to one side, "Well. Let's put it this way." He turned his back on her, moving to his desk, "Either you give your consent... _or_..." he picked up what looked like a metal pencil case and pulled out a hypodermic needle, "I give you a shot of _this_, which is Flunitrazepam, a Benzodiazepine, and I carry out the examination while you're unconscious." He pushed the needle into a small glass bottle, drawing up some clear liquid. He pushed the plunger until a small trickle of the stuff squirted out the end, and then, seemingly satisfied, put a small plastic safety cap over the needle. Then he looked at her, "So. Which is it to be?"

Rebecca shook her head, slowly. Her heart was pounding, her eyes flickering between his and the needle. She shook her head again, "You... you can't be serious. You're joking. Right? You're joking."

"I don't joke, Miss Wells." He replied, perfectly seriously.

"Then I'm triggering again, this... this can't be real."

"I can assure you, this is very real."

She nodded, quickly, "Well, yeah, but that's exactly what a schizophrenic hallucination _would_ say, _isn't_ it."

He smiled again, "Think whatever you want, Miss Wells. I _am_ going to examine you. Now, I don't know you very well - _yet_ - but... I'm thinking you're the sort of person who'd be less scared of something happening when she was _awake_... than being unconscious and never knowing what truly happened." He let her think about it for a second, "So. What's it to be. Sober... or with a shot of Flunitrazepam."

She still stared at him. Her mind was saying this wasn't possible, that she was dreaming, maybe, or hallucinating. But she had spent a long time fighting to figure out what was real and what was not. And this... this felt real.

She glanced at the door. It was still unlocked, still open. But... who would believe her? She was a lunatic. A paranoid schizophrenic. Emphasis on the word _paranoid_. Who would believe her?

**Let me help you, **Eve whispered in her ear, **Please. Let me help. Give me some room. I'll help you.**

_Okay._ She replied, _Help me. But only to keep me calm. Let me make the decisions. Yeah?_

**If it'll help us live through this... go for it.**

"Flunitrazepam." She repeated, slowly, "Isn't that... _Rohypnol_?"

He nodded, "Rohypnol is one brand name for it, yes. Along with Nilium, Flunipam and Ronal."

Rebecca felt Eve's presence grow stronger as her fear heightened, "You... you're gonna stick me with a goddamned _roofie_? I thought you were a damned scientist! A _shrink_!"

"I am."

"Then... what the _fuck_ is wrong with you."

Crane sighed. He shook his head, leaning back against his desk, "Miss Wells. I think... well, I think I have an _idea_ of what pushed you into your psychosis. It's an idea that's becoming more and more palpable as we go along in these sessions. But, seeing as you are obviously incapable of confirming this for me _yourself_, I will need to conduct a physical examination to be absolutely positive."

"I don't do examinations. You should know that by now."

He nodded, thoughtfully. Then he straightened up, picking up the needle again. Rebecca rose from her chair, slowly, and the smallest smile twitched on his lips. He started towards her. She took a few quick steps back, feeling her heart pound, her breathing quicken.

Then, abruptly, anger came through: "Go on." She snarled, viciously, "Fucking do it. _Stick_ me. What's the worst you could fucking do."

He raised an eyebrow, unperturbed, "Is this Eve speaking? Of course it is. And, I assure you, Eve, the direct method means nothing to me, either way I get what I want. But, just a piece of advice..." he leaned towards her, and, suddenly, he looked very, very dangerous, "_Never_ ask me what's the worst I could do."

Even Eve flinched. That voice... it was as if something darker in Crane was poking through to the surface, fighting to get free. Then Crane shook his head, and he was back again, "Now. Make up your mind."

She looked at him. Eve was silent. Jane had been struck down when he first took out the needle. She had no-one.

Rebecca shook her head, slowly, "Do it. _Do_ it. Do the damned examination. _Fast_."

He smiled, "Thank you." He placed the injection away on the table, promptly, and then moved over to her, fast, "Now. I'll need you to undress."

Rebecca let out a quick breath, turning her head. She was trembling. She licked her lips. Then she nodded, glancing up at him, nodding again. Her hands moved up to her top. Then she pulled it over her head.

Doctor Crane - such a gentleman - turned his back, busying himself with a plastic stand-alone screen that had been tucked away in a cupboard, "I usually would perform examinations downstairs in the doctor's room, but it is cramped and has a door that you can't leave open, and I don't expect you'd like that, would you? So we'll just put this screen in front of the door, like that, yes? Good."

She hadn't replied, hadn't even acknowledged that she'd heard him. Her hands kept fumbling with the button on her jeans. She finally just gave up, pulling them over her hips, for once almost glad that she was such a difficult size to buy for, and then, shakily, folded them, placing them neatly on the chair.

Crane turned back around. His eyes flickered over her for less than a second before returning to her face, coolly. He held up what looked like an old-fashioned tape recorder, "It will have to be recorded, of course. Audio, not video."

"I don't want to hear it." She said, instantly, "I don't want to know."

"You still maintain that you don't remember?"

"I _don't_ remember." She looked at him for a second. Then her eyes scanned the room, "That. Over there. CD player. What's in it."

He followed her gaze, and then looked back at her, "The Pet Shop Boys." He winked, something so unlike him that she found herself staring at him, "Secret obsession."

She nodded, slowly, "Let me use it."

"To block out what I'm saying?"

"Yes. Please."

"Of course." He replied, fluidly, moving over to get the CD player, passing it to her, "Here."

Rebecca immediately put the earphones in, selecting a random track to play. Crane watched until she was ready, and then nodded, "Right. Now." He took a pair of disposable gloves from a box over on the desk and pulled them on, "Sorry my hands are cold. Let's get started."

Rebecca cranked the volume up to full. He was still speaking, but anything he said was drowned out by the electronic roar she hadn't heard in over ten years.

_When I look back upon my life, it's always with a sense of shame: I've always been the one to blame. For everything I long to do, no matter when or where or who, has one thing in common, too - it's a, it's a, it's a..._

_It's a sin._


	12. Chapter 12: Burning Bridges

**Chapter 12: Burning Bridges**

_Thursday, October 15__th__._

Nurse Werner looked at the girl in front of her. She couldn't believe she had gone so far in just three weeks. Not even a _month_. She had gone so far.

_Back_.

Rebecca Lauren Wells sat in the chair with her knees brought up to her chest, rocking slightly. Werner had only just managed to convince her out of the corner she had retreated to, hands clenched over her head in her hair. Her skin was pale and huge black rings circled her eyes. At a guess, Werner would have said she probably hadn't slept for about four days. Blood covered her hands where she had split open the cuticles on her thumbs, and her usually short but immaculate nails were bitten down to the quick, red and sore.

"Rebecca?" she prompted, softly.

The girl shook her head, her usually passionate black eyes cold and empty, fixed on the open door to her left, "Please. Please. I have to get out of here."

Werner shook her head, lowering her voice to that soothing tone all nurses seemed to be gifted with: "Rebecca. What's wrong? Please, _tell_ me."

She shook her head, violently, "I have... to get out. I have... to get out. I have to. I have to get out. I... I _have_ to."

"Rebecca." She repeated, firmly, "_Look_ at me. Can you _look_ at me, Rebecca?"

She didn't move her eyes from the door, "I promised I'd give her more space."

"Who?"

"Let her talk every once in a while."

"_Who_."

"She said the dreams, the fear, they all come from suppressing her. She comes out when I sleep. If I let her out when I'm _awake_, then they'll all go away. But when he took out that needle..."

"_What_?" she asked, incredulously, "_Needle_? What are you _talking_ about?"

"I mean, she gave me strength, she did, she took my fear, but that second, right there... they all just _abandoned_ me, I was there by myself, and it should have been good, it should have been _fantastic_, but it wasn't, oh God, it wasn't. It was... _silent_."

"Rebecca," Werner said again, quietly, "You're gonna have to slow down for me, sweetheart. I'm not getting any of this."

The girl paused for a moment. Then, for the first time, she met her eyes. "I'm scared of Doctor Crane."

* * *

Werner watched her. A small part of her was relieved. This was something concrete, something real. Things could be done about _this_ fear.

"Why."

"Nurse Werner. I'm scared of Doctor Crane."

"I know, Rebecca. I heard you the first time. _Why_."

Rebecca looked at her again. Maybe she was asking the voices, maybe she was just considering her answer. Maybe _both_. "I don't trust him." She said, finally.

"Why."

"He's... he's planning something."

_Oh Lord,_ she thought, shakily, _Oh Lord, not again. Please. That poor girl._

"What." she asked, evenly, "What d'you think he's planning."

She paused for a moment. Then she shook her head, "Why does he keep asking about my fears, my phobias. Why is he so interested, why does he even _care_?"

"Rebecca, he's a _shrink_, that's his _job_!"

"I only trigger around him. Only _really_ trigger, I mean. Panic attacks, hallucinations, the whole shazam - but only around him."

Werner shook her head, trying to calm down the frantic beating of her heart, quell the desperation inside of her, "Look, it's understandable, you're alone in a room with a man you don't really know, in a _place_ you don't really know, this is a... _huge_ step for you."

She shook her head, immediately dismissing it, "I don't trust him. He's called me to his office every day for two weeks. He's got an agenda. That 'incense'..."

Werner broke, closing her eyes for a moment, "Oh, Rebecca, _listen_ to yourself! Can't you _see_ it?"

The girl looked at her, "What are you talking about."

"These damned _conspiracy_ theories! Rebecca. You're _relapsing_. Your schizophrenia, it's growing _stronger_! That's why Crane keeps asking you questions about your fears, _that's_ why you trigger around him, and _that's_ why he's upped the number of your sessions! You're _relapsing_!"

Rebecca looked at her for a very long time. "You... you think I'm crazy."

"No." She replied, instantly, "No, Rebecca, I didn't say that." She looked at her for a second. She could see something in her eyes. "There's something you're not telling me." She said, quietly. "Isn't there. Something about Crane. Something about the hospital. Tell me. Please. You can trust me, Rebecca."

She shook her head, incredulously, anger flaring in her beautiful eyes, "How on earth can I trust you, why would you _believe_ me? You think I'm _insane_."

"Rebecca -"

"No, _worse_ than that, you think I'm _**lying**_." There was a long silence, Rebecca staring at her. Then she got to her feet, "Get out."

Werner stood, shaking her head, "Rebecca, I -"

"You heard me." Her voice shook with warring emotions, fear, anger, pain, "Get out." She didn't move, and anger won: "Get _out_! Get the _fuck_ away from me, _get_ _**OUT**_!"

Werner flinched back like she had been burned. Then she nodded, slowly, "Okay. Okay, Rebecca. I'm going." She walked to the door, and then hesitated. She glanced back, "I hope... I hope one day you remember that I'm here to help you. Then maybe... maybe you'll call. Okay?"

"Don't hold your breath." She said, viciously.

She nodded, slowly, "Okay. Goodbye."

And, without another word, she left.

* * *

Rebecca's eyes stayed on the door. Eve raged inside of her whilst Jane, for once, stayed silent. There were other voices, _new_ voices, popping up every day, for now just whispering, but she knew it would only get worse. Maybe she _was_ relapsing. But that didn't make her crazy.

Should she have told her everything? About Crane, about Warrick, about the new voices, the way they seemed to slip so easily into the control seat, about the _visual_ hallucinations being back again, plaguing her day and night?

"She wouldn't have believed you," a voice that belonged to neither Eve nor Jane said, firmly, "She thinks you're just nuts. Just crazy."

Rebecca shook her head, slowly, "I'm not crazy. I know I'm not crazy." She paused for a moment, "I'll deal with it. I'll deal with it. Without her."

Her voice held still, firm, resolute, determined.

But, inside, part of her was breaking.

* * *

"That's what she said to you?"

"Yes." The nurse replied, ever-so-slightly stiffly. Seemed it was still a sore subject. "She told me to leave. She _screamed_ at me to get out, to get away from her."

"Hmm..." Crane thought about it for a second. Then he shook his head, "Then maybe... that is best."

"Sorry?" Nurse Werner asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Well, if she seems to think you as some sort of _enemy_, someone who can't be trusted, then it will hardly be good for her psych if you continued on seeing her."

"I am her nurse. I have been for over a year."

"And now she is treating you as an enemy," he pointed out, firmly, "Now she is ordering you out of her room, ordering you away from her." He paused, and then shook his head, "Nurse Werner, I was always hesitant about allowing you to continue seeing Miss Wells after she moved into this establishment, but I agreed on the condition that it should not harm her progress. Now... it _is_ harming her progress."

"But this just doesn't make sense." She argued, shaking her head, "She was _fine_, she was doing _fine_. Now, suddenly, she's regressing again. _Why_?"

"The mind is a complicated thing, Nurse Werner." He replied, quietly, "No-one truly understands it. We may never know why she has reacted this way."

But she shook her head again, "No. There must be a reason for this. Her past, how she became schizophrenic... that's how we'll work it out. But the only link is her father. If we could find him, maybe then we'd know -"

"Her father is dead." Her interrupted, calmly. He watched her surprise without emotion. "He was killed, by the mob. Murdered. They were both there, Miss Wells and her father, and they murdered him." He paused for a moment, remembering one particular part of his notes, "But, of course, not before they'd bestowed their affections on _her_."

"How... how do you _know_ all this?"

He shook his head, "Come, nurse, it's not that difficult to figure out. And after I conducted a full physical examination -"

"She let you _examine_ her?" she interrupted, frowning.

"With a little persuasion, yes."

She shook her head, "That's not possible."

"I assure you, Nurse Werner, it is. As I was saying, after I conducted a full physical examination, the evidence was astounding. Marks across her back, her chest. Scars. The cause was obvious." Crane shook his head, glancing at his watch, "But I'm afraid that's all I have time for today, Nurse Werner. It would be helpful if you would refrain from visiting here for the next few weeks. If Rebecca's condition improves, I assure you I will call. Thank you for coming."

He had nearly ushered her out of the door when she spoke again: "Doctor Crane?"

He looked at her, "Yes, Nurse Werner?"

She paused for a second, thinking. Then she met his eyes. "Rebecca would let _no_-one examine her._ No_-one." Werner looked at him for a moment, "Exactly what kind of persuasion did you _use_ on her, _Doctor Crane_."

Crane gave a small, lopsided smile, "Sometimes, Nurse Werner... you just need the right touch."


	13. Chapter 13: You're Not Paranoid If

**Chapter 13: You're Not Paranoid If...**

_Saturday, November 14__th__._

"Claire? You got a second?"

"I've got an _hour_, Andrea. What's up?"

Doctor Nowell glanced around her. Then she shook her head, "Have you seen Wells recently?"

Rodriguez shook her head, "No. But, then again, I'm not in her block. Why, what's wrong with her?"

Her fingers brushed over the old scar as she sighed, "She just seems... _disconnected_ recently. Detached. Withdrawn."

"So? She's schizophrenic, isn't she? Maybe she's going through a rough patch."

"I think she misses her old nurse."

"Warner?"

"Werner."

"That's the one."

"She hasn't seen her in almost a month. I wonder why she hasn't turned up?"

Claire shrugged, "I don't know. Maybe you should _ask_ her."

"Claire, I'm worried Wells is spiralling back into remission. I'm worried she's getting worse and not better. I mean, the only people she ever _speaks_ to are Ray-Ray and her lot. I've heard she's even stopped talking in Doctor Crane's sessions."

"I thought _you_ were her shrink?"

She shrugged, "Well, yeah, I _was_. But then Doctor Crane said he wanted to take her on personally. D'you think... d'you think she's missing home? Trenton, I mean?"

The nurse shook her head, "Andrea, I don't know, I just don't know. It's really not my speciality. Tell you what, why don't you go speak to Doctor Crane about it? He might know what's going on with her."

"Yeah. Yeah, you're right. Maybe he will."

* * *

"Doctor Crane?"

"Come in."

Andrea walked into his office, staying respectfully by the door. The doctor glanced up from his perfectly ordered notes, "Doctor Nowell. Please, take a seat. What can I do for you?"

She sat down, easily, "I'd like to talk about Rebecca, if you have time."

"Miss Wells?" he clarified, frowning slightly, curiously, "What would you like to know?"

"I just have some concerns."

"Concerns." He nodded, continued reading until the end of the page, and then pushed the notes away, looking up and giving her his full attention. He gestured at her to continue.

Doctor Nowell looked at him for a moment, and her hand brushed back her hair, unconsciously. If she were being honest, she could admit that she'd always been a little scared of Doctor Crane. He was a very intense man, almost to the point of being cold, and that along with his perfect good looks was definitely enough to make any woman feel a little intimidated around him. But he could turn his charm on like a tap, speak so soothingly, gently, and, with that lopsided smile of his and his beautiful sea-grey eyes, it was almost too much to resist.

Maybe that was why so many patients stayed on with him.

"Recently, Miss Wells has been very withdrawn. She stays in her room at all times, only leaving for the cafeteria once a day, and, when she does, barely eating. She doesn't speak, doesn't socialize... the only ones she talks to are the four she met on her first day."

"Who are?"

"Kyle Hyste, Alex Skiv, Mical Alejandro and Penny Morales."

"Ray-Ray and her gang."

"Yes, doctor."

He nodded, thoughtfully, "So they are her only associates in the hospital?"

"Yes, doctor, as far as I'm aware. They are quite close, it seems."

"Hm. How long has Miss Wells been withdrawn for, would you say?"

She thought about it, "I suppose... at least three weeks, doctor."

"Of course. I don't know if you know this, Doctor Nowell, but the nurse from Trenton whom she was very close with left under somewhat... _strenuous circumstances_."

"Around three weeks ago." She completed.

"Yes. Rebecca ordered her out of her room, screaming, yelling, accusing her of... all sorts of strange things."

"Why?" she asked, frowning.

He shook his head, "I don't know. Her schizophrenia has been... _difficult_ lately. She is a treatment-resistant. I am beginning to fear that she has grown an immunity to her medication, her Clozapine."

"If that is so, what medication would be next on the list?"

He shook his head, "I'd have to look it up. I don't think there even _is_ any. She's already failed on two others. This is going to be difficult..."

"It'll be fine." She replied, firmly, "We'll find something. There'll be something, there always is. And we'll find it."

Crane looked at her for a moment. Then he got up, abruptly, walking over to her. She watched him approach, curious and uneasy, more so when he uncharacteristically perched himself down on the arm of her chair. He stayed there for a moment, just watching her.

Andrea shifted in her chair, something that, as a shrink, she was not in habit of doing. His eyes seemed darker than usual today, a dark, deep blue. She looked at him, hesitantly. He held her there for a moment, and then glanced down. He took hold of her left hand, and she didn't fight. His finger and thumb easily found the gold wedding ring and started playing with it, easing it up and down her finger, rotating it.

"D... Doctor Crane?" she asked, hesitantly.

"What was your name before Nowell?" his voice was quiet, pensive. His eyes burned.

"I..." technically it was May, the name of her ex husband. But like hell was she going to tell him _that_. Maiden name it was, then. "Karris. Andrea Karris."

"Andrea Karris..." he looked at her, sharply, and she didn't have enough time to hide her unease. A small, unfamiliar smile tugged at his lips. "So scared..."

She frowned, "Sorry?" she asked, shakily.

Crane didn't reply. He paused for a moment, as if he were savouring it, his eyes back on the ring.

Then, as quickly as it had begun, the moment was over, and he stood up, turning back to his desk, his cool, usual self, "I'll speak to Miss Wells as soon as I have a second free. I'm sure she's still just adjusting to her new home. Thank you for coming, Doctor Nowell."

Nowell hesitated. It was obviously a dismissal. She tried to rise, but she found that her legs couldn't quite support her weight. She paused for a moment, closing her eyes, giving herself a severe mental scolding, and then tried again, slowly. She glanced up at Crane. He still had his back to her, returning to whatever it was he had been reading before she came in. She paused, then shook her head, "Thank you, doctor." She managed to keep the quiver out of her voice, and when she walked out the door, she didn't shake.

Doctor Nowell nee Karris stopped in the corridor, leaning her head back against the cold wall, letting out a relieved breath and closing her eyes for a second. Then she opened them, shook her head, and left, quickly. She didn't look back.

* * *

Rebecca glanced up as she heard the door to her room open, and then froze in her place as she saw who it was.

"Hey, freak." Warrick said, smirking, "How you doin'?"

She immediately got to her feet, moving swiftly so she wasn't backed into a corner, her eyes locked on his, heart pounding.

Warrick noticed the reaction, and smiled again, "Not so tough _now_, _are_ you."

**Let me out. Let **_**me**_** deal with him.**

_**No**_. She replied, ferociously, employing some of Eve's anger, _Not a chance in hell. You're not hurting __**any**__body._

**Even him?**

_Even him_.

She stood still, silently, watching him. Warrick moved further into the room, and was followed by another orderly. A frown fleeted over Rebecca's face. She didn't know how to add this up in her head. More danger or less, she couldn't tell.

Warrick landed a kick onto the chair by her table, knocking it out the way, "Get your shit together, you're outta here."

"Where." She asked, not moving.

"Downstairs. Intensive care."

"Why."

He shot her his trademark disgusted glare, "'Cause the boss _says_ you are, that's fucking why. Now _move_ it!"

He gestured at her, violently, as if he was about to hit her, but she didn't flinch. She paused for a moment, and then nodded, dropping to her knees to drag the camping back out from underneath the bed, frowning slightly as the orderlies started dumping clothes onto it, emptying drawers so she could put them away.

Warrick found the small brown string of beads she had placed under her green top, and frowned at it, "The fuck's this?"

She took it from him, quickly, "It's a _rosary_. Prayer beads. I was once a Catholic, it's... it's something they use for prayer."

"You're a _Catholic_?" the disgusted glare again, this time moving over her body, "What a fucking waste."

"I said I _was_ a Catholic." She corrected, putting the beads away in a zip pocket, "_Past_ tense."

"So not a waste at all?"

She glanced at him, "Oh, still a waste, I'm afraid. Unfortunately for you I was born with a sense of _taste_."

Before she could look up he'd grabbed her by the throat and slammed her back against the wall. She grabbed his hands, reflexively, gasping, only able to get in the tiniest amount of breath.

Warrick pushed closer. His brown eyes seemed even darker up close. "We'll see who's got a sense of taste, darlin'. By the time _I've_ finished with you the only thing that pretty little mouth of yours will know how to _do_ is suck, you get me?"

"Let... let go of me." She choked out, gasping, tattered fingernails digging into his hard hand.

Warrick held her there for a second, and then let her go. Rebecca fell to the floor, coughing and spluttering, forcing air through a bruised windpipe, hand to her aching throat. He left her there for a moment and then grabbed her by the arm, yanking her painfully to her feet, "_Move_ it. Let's get going."

She managed to calm her breathing down, and grabbed her bag, slinging it over her back. She glanced once around the room, knowing she hadn't forgotten anything as everything was mostly still packed anyway, but unable to stop the automatic impulse. She moved over to the door, flinching away as Warrick tried to slip his hand onto her ass, colliding sharply with the desk, her mind providing a suitably vicious curse. Warrick laughed and she kept moving, moving past the other orderly so she wasn't left in the room alone with him, no matter for how long.

They took the stairs down, going down to the basement level for intensive care.

* * *

Rebecca looked around her. The cold room consisted of a bed and a small screened-off section that would probably contain a toilet and sink. Everything was rounded, padded, taped down, firmly. There would be no cuts along her neck in _this_ place.

She knew full well why Crane had ordered her to be transferred down here. It was solitary. Left for people who were a danger to themselves and to others. A person who was locked up down here was a person who was out of control. He was making it so that, if she were to ever tell anyone what he was doing... no-one would ever believe her.

Rebecca dumped her bag on the bed, and the door shut with a snap behind her. She closed her eyes for a moment. Then she turned around.

Warrick was standing in front of the door. And the door was shut.

Panic and fear flooded her brain, scattering all rational thought, "Open the door."

"No." He replied, raising an eyebrow, as if to say 'what the fuck you gonna do _now_?' He smirked, slowly, "Time for your welcoming present, sweetheart. Bit overdue, but that can't be helped."

"Open the door," she repeated, quietly, feeling her lungs tighten as the walls got closer, "Do whatever you want to me, just open the door."

"Oh. Is someone claustrophobic?"

"Yes. Open the door."

He smirked, moving towards her, "No." She took a quick step to the left but he grabbed her arms, tightly, pushing her backwards. She felt the back of her legs hit something solid and then she fell, her back hitting the thin bed, and he was on top of her.

Rebecca fought and struggled, desperately, thrashing, her heart pounding, "Get _off_ -"

Warrick forced a hand over her mouth, pushing her back, "Nuh-uh, freak. I've been patient. I've waited six fucking _weeks_ for this. I aint gonna wait any longer."

She shook her head, violently, trying to throw him off her, and he laughed, and moving his other hand to her chest, moving down her front.

She fought and growled, whimpered, noises of protest and fear working their way out her throat as he lowered his mouth to her shoulder and bit down, hard.

"Shut the fuck up." He said, abruptly putting his hands on her waist and dragging her down, towards him, positioning her. His hand left her mouth and helped the other to yank her top over her head, throwing it carelessly aside.

_Shit. Oh shit, fuck, __**fuck**__! Get the __**fuck off of me!**_

His hands were moving up to her bra. His breath was hot and harsh on her neck, his tongue moving over the place he had bitten, tasting fresh blood, his hands fumbling with the clasp.

Suddenly, there was a shrill beeping sound. Warrick stopped for a second, abruptly, and then shook his head, his hands moving back to the clasp. The beeping sounded again, and he cursed, violently. He pulled back off her a bit and took his pager off his belt, looking at it. He swore again, and then looked back at her, giving a small grim smile, "Sorry 'bout this sweetheart, but I've gotta run. Catch ya next time."

He got up, and Rebecca swiftly backed away, retreating into the wall. He pulled on his jacket, and then looked at her, pausing at the door. Then he shook his head, disgustedly, and walked out the door.

Rebecca waited until she was sure he was out of hearing distance.

"BASTARD!"


	14. Chapter 14: The Right Touch

**Chapter 14: The Right Touch**

_Saturday, December 12__th__._

When Crane walked into the office he had assigned for his and Miss Wells'... _talks_, she was already sitting in the chair by the table. She hadn't noticed him, and he stayed still for a moment, taking the opportunity to observe her. Wells was wearing the same top and jeans as she had been wearing on the very first day they met more than three months ago. They were looser on her now - she hadn't been eating - and it contrasted more with her much paler skin, but, other than that, she looked just as beautifully fragile, as meek and submissive, as she had all those weeks ago.

The redhead was facing away from him, and was rocking, gently, singing something under her breath.

"Go nuclear, the cowboy told us. And who am I to disagree. 'Cause when the madman flips the switch... the nuclear will go for me."

Crane listened with a calculated interest as she continued more _muttering_ the words than singing them, and then took a few more steps inside, "What are you singing?"

* * *

Rebecca glanced up at him. Her expression no longer showed fear, or anger. Merely mild curiosity. "It's Fun Boy Three. Do you know it?"

"No, I have to say I don't."

"It's called... 'The Lunatics Have Taken Over The Asylum'."

Crane raised an eyebrow, "Sounds good."

She nodded, slowly, "It is. You should hear the rest of my repertoire. I also know David Bowie's 'All the Madmen' and 'I Think I'm Paranoid' by Garbage."

"Hm... Still got your healthy sense of humour, then."

"I thought it apt. After all, in an asylum, if you're not laughing, you're crying. I prefer the former."

"You should talk to the Joker."

"Oh, is he back in town?"

"An interesting way of putting it, but, yes, yes he is. Back in for life."

She shook her head, dismissively, "It won't last. He'll escape. He always does. I'm surprised you guys are still _open_ with the turnover rate in this place..."

Whether she had offended Crane with this comment or not, she didn't know. Not that she really thought he was capable of human emotion anymore.

"Now. Miss Wells. We've got to have a talk."

She nodded, listlessly, "I know. Isn't that _always_ why I'm here?"

"Yes. I want to talk about our progress."

"Is that _my_ progress or _your_ progress."

He gave a small, lopsided smile, "Alright, then. _My_ progress. Which, so far, has been practically nonexistent."

"I'm glad to disappoint."

"You haven't disappointed _yet_, Miss Wells. We've still got time."

"Of course. We are in a hospital."

"Exactly. How was your week?"

She thought about it for a second, "Quiet."

"I'm sorry about that."

"It was fantastic. Jane and Eve gave me Sunday off. Of course it wasn't _silent_, but it was a hell of a lot quieter than it's been for a long time."

"That was nice of them."

"Yeah. It was."

Crane thought for a second, and then shook his head, "Sometimes I think... if _my_ voices were that considerate, maybe we'd get along as well as _you_ do."

Rebecca frowned. She could feel herself coming out of her emotionless stupor. She looked at him, "You're... you're schizophrenic?"

"Not... _quite_." He paused for a moment, "I understand you, Miss Wells. Better than you've ever known. But there's one thing I _don't_ understand." He straightened his notepad, delicately, and then looked up at her, "How well do you remember the second time we met?"

She shook her head, "Well enough. It was after the dream I had about escaping. The _first_ dream I had about escaping." She clarified, giving a small grim smile, "You wanted me to do a dream diary and I pretty much point-blank refused... Then we talked about Lynns. And then..."

"Then you had a psychotic breakdown." He completed, nodding, "What you assumed to be a psychotic trigger due to your schizophrenia. However, before you came in, I filled the room with a potent toxin -"

"You _what_?" Rebecca interrupted, immediately, incredulously.

"- that induces hallucination in all who inhale it."

"_Hallucinations_?"

"Apart from me." He finished, calmly, "Apparently I am now... _immune_." He cocked his head, "Which has both its upsides and downsides, I believe."

_Oh God,_ Jane said, shakily, _Oh __**God**__, he's mental. He's completely insane._

Then Eve gave her the words she really needed: **Fuck. Are you really **_**surprised**_**?**

Rebecca looked at him for a long time. Finally, she shook her head, "I knew that wasn't fucking incense." He gave a cold smile and she shook her head again, "I don't... I don't understand. _Why_."

"I'm a scientist, Miss Wells. A psychologist, and I have a great interest in the effect of fear. These hallucinations, this toxin, it is designed to bring about the subject's worst phobia. And what I don't understand... is why you didn't react like the others."

"_Others_?" she repeated, confused, "You..." Realisation dawned quickly, and soon she felt physically ill. She shook her head, disgustedly, "God. Well, I always knew you were a sick fuck, but I didn't think you were _this_ sick. You're goddamned _insane_! You... you've been _experimenting_ on them! On your _patients_! All this time you've been... _experimenting_ on them!"

"I am in charge of a mental asylum housing over a hundred inmates, Miss Wells, men and women who will be here doing absolutely nothing until the day they are released or the day the die, it would be a waste not to explore their potential."

"By torturing them."

"These people have had their chances, Rebecca. They've squandered their lives. Now they are part of something bigger. Paying their debt to society, if you will."

"You're fucking insane." She snarled, Eve's influence well and truly showing through.

He rolled his eyes, "Look who's talking..."

They stared at each other for a moment. Both had seen the uncharacteristic flashes in the other's speech. And both had realised their own.

Crane recovered first: "Whatever you say. Whatever your thoughts about it. The experiments will continue."

"Until _what_?" she asked, eyes flashing with anger.

He closed his eyes for a moment, a gesture that immediately caught her attention. They were nearing something close to the chest here...

He looked at her again, seriously, "The reason I continue these experiments, Miss Wells, is because there are some things I still do not know. For example, I can induce hallucinations in any subject, any at all, and even _create_ phobias, but... I don't know what they see. Mostly... I can convince them to tell me. Through a mock 'session' or through... _other_ means."

"Cheap threats. Intimidation. Pain. Like some common _thug_."

She spat the words out at him, intending to wound, but he just nodded, thoughtfully, "The price of my research, Miss Wells. Sometimes, in the path to knowledge, certain... _distasteful acts_ cannot be avoided."

"_D__istasteful acts_?" she repeated, sceptically, "We are talking about these people's _lives_! These people are _sick_; they come to you for help, and you... _experiment_ on them!"

"These people are scum and villains. Thieves. Murderers."

"Human beings."

"Some people wouldn't agree with that. Don't you need a conscience to be human?"

"I know a lot of people who get along fine without." She looked at him for a second, "So what about me. I haven't hurt anyone. I'm insane, sure, but I'm not a killer. Why are you still experimenting on _me_."

He paused. Then he shook his head, "Curiosity. I need to know what you saw. I need to know what you hallucinated. I need to know what you fear."

"Why. Why is it so important to you."

He shook his head, "No experiment can be complete without reliable data, Miss Wells." He paused for a moment and then shook his head, conceding, "You were interesting. An anomaly. I saw your reaction, if it can be called that, and realised you were something new. I want to know why it was so... _tame_."

"_Tame_?" she gave a small, bitter laugh, "I went into goddamned _hysterics_!"

"But you didn't. You didn't cry, didn't yell, didn't call out. Didn't _scream_."

"What's _that_ got to do with anything?"

"You told yourself it wasn't real." He continued, as if waiting for her to see the obvious, "You made it into... just another nightmare. How did you do that."

She looked at him for a long time. Then she shook her head, "I'm a paranoid schizophrenic. I thought I was triggering. I've spent nearly two years - that's seven hundred and thirty days - every hour, every _second_ fighting things in my head that I know are not real." She shook her head, "I mean, come on. Are you really _surprised_?"

Crane nodded, slowly, "Of course, your schizophrenia... I should have thought of experimenting on a schizophrenic _before_..."

"What, you mean you _haven't_? I'd've thought you'd have plenty in _supply_."

"Well. Not one that _fought_." She raised an eyebrow, but before she had time to give a cutting remark he had continued: "You quoted the bible. Psalm twenty-three, 'The Lord's my Shepherd'. You're religious?"

She paused a beat. "Not at all. Quoting from books is one of my coping strategies. I use it for my schizophrenia. Along with random multiplication, counting ticks in clocks... anything to keep my mind busy. It's just a coping strategy."

"But you _knew_ it." He pressed, "You quoted it all, off by heart. You _were_ religious once, weren't you?"

"Doctor Crane." She said, quietly.

"And a normal, run-of-the-mill school-taught Protestant wouldn't know bible passages off by heart. What were you, Catholic?"

**Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee.**

"_I'm Catholic."  
_"_Sorry, what was that?"  
_"_I'm __**Catholic**__."  
_"_You're gonna wish you never told us that, darlin'."_

Glory be to the Father, and to the Son and to the Holy Ghost: as it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be.

Rebecca closed her eyes for a moment. Then she opened them again, "Yes. Yes I was. I was a Catholic."

"So what happened?"

She didn't answer. Words scattered around her head, disjointed phrases, laughs, jeers, but none of it made any sense, none of it conjoined with the rest, it was all just... _noise_.

All she could recognise was fear.

Crane was watching her. "If it helps... I think I have an idea."

"_Do_ you." She replied, cuttingly.

"Yes. I think I know what happened to you on New Year's Day. I think I know how you came to be so far from home, so late at night, lost in the snow. I think I know how your house was burned to the ground. I think I know what happened to your father."

Rebecca's eyes shut again, unwillingly. No. No. _NO_! No, she wasn't going to be reminded of this again. She wasn't going to _let_ him remind her of this again.

She was out of the chair before she realised she was on her feet, and heading to the door, swiftly, and, just as swiftly, slammed back against the wall.

She fought and struggled against Crane's grip, but even a doctor like him could easily have one over a hundred and ten pound redhead who'd lost more than a night's sleep.

"Get _off_ me!"

"Stop struggling."

"Like _fuck_, _get __**off**__ of me_!"

He caught her wrists, slamming them back against the wall in a sudden burst of strength that she hadn't been expecting. Her cry caught in her throat and she instantly froze, squeezing her eyes shut so she wouldn't have to look at him, shaking slightly.

He paused for a moment, and then moved closer to her until his body pressed her back into the corner. She let out a small whimper, barely an exhaled breath, and shook her head, "Get... get away from me."

"Look at me."

"No."

"_Look_ at me."

"_No_."

He took hold of her chin, trying to move her face back to his, but she yanked her head out of his grip, turning it away, her cheek pressing against the wall, eyes still firmly shut.

Crane moved even closer and a shudder racked through her body. Immediately, she started throwing up her walls.

"S-seven. Fourteen. Twenty-one. Twenty-eight. Thirty-five."

"Nuh-uh. You're not getting away _that_ easily."

"Thirty-five. Forty-two. Forty-nine. Fifty-six. Six-"

He grabbed her by the throat, stopping her. Her eyes reflexively opened, locking onto his stunning grey opposites. She forced her breathing to slow, knowing that if she panicked it would only get worse. There was a long pause as he stood there, hand wrapped tightly around her neck, watching her.

"Why aren't you afraid."

She gave a small, slightly hysterical laugh, "I _am_ afraid."

"True. But not as much as you _should_ be." He pressed his body closer and she cringed, her breathing coming faster again, "This _is_ what happened to you, isn't it. Back with your father. And the mob, it _was_ the mob, _wasn't_ it. This _is_ what they did to you."

"Why would _you_ care." She managed, keeping his eyes, "And, even if you did, why the fuck would _I __**tell**_ you."

"Well. I'm assuming you wouldn't want to go through it _again_, yes?"

* * *

There was a long silence. Rebecca's mouth felt dry. She shook her head, slowly, "You... you wouldn't."

"And why is that."

Those cold eyes locked onto hers, indifferently. She shook her head again, "Because... because you're a scientist. You've never really... _hurt_ anyone. Not directly."

"And you're sure of that, are you?" he held her there for a moment, and then shook his head, "Though, truth be told, I do find all this a little... _distasteful_."

"_Distasteful_?" she repeated, weakly.

"Yes. I much prefer my toxin for bringing up fear in my subjects. But with you I have to be a little more... _resourceful_."

She looked at him, seeing an opening, grabbing at it, "But... if you don't like this... why are you _doing_ it?"

He gave a small smile, "Oh, I won't be."

"What... what d'you mean."

"First thing you learn in this sort of business, Miss Wells:" he shot her a pleasant smile, "_Delegation_. I'll leave this job to someone a little less... _picky_ than me."

She looked at him, her heart pounding so hard she could taste it, "Who."

The doctor paused for a moment, watching her. Then he shook his head, "Would you like to see my mask?"


	15. Chapter 15: Playing Games

**Chapter 15: Playing Games**

When his body left hers Rebecca was too apprehensive to feel relief. Crane moved away from her, over to his desk, opening a drawer.

"I use it in my experiments. It used to be just another prop. But now... now it is so much more."

He brought out something that looked like a harsh, burlap sack, like something a farmer would use for putting hay in. There were two kind of holes at the top, stitched together roughly with thick black thread.

He moved towards her again, and she could feel her heart beating in her stomach, "What's that."

"It's my mask. Do you like it?"

He took off his glasses, folding them up and placing them neatly down on the small table beside his chair, with his notebook. The lack of anything screening them made his eyes seem deeper, darker, more piercing. They reminded her of that day, so many weeks ago now, that day when he had examined her, the day when he threatened her with a shot of Rohypnol, that day when his voice turned dark and menacing, like there was something inside him, fighting to get free.

"_**Never** ask me what's the worst I could do."_

He took another step towards her and Rebecca felt her back collide once again with the wall as she automatically backed away. He smiled, and then, slowly, he slipped the mask over his head. It looked even creepier when it was on him, that mask, that sack, how could he _breathe_ in there, how could he _see_? It became evident he _could_, though, as he was still walking towards her, and, this time, there was something in his walk, something in his stance, something she had never seen before, and, for some reason, the sight filled her with fear.

He strode over to her, full of confidence, and, right away, slammed her back against the wall, "Now. Where were we."

His voice was different. She didn't know how, but it was. She stood absolutely still, staring at him, shocked with the difference. She couldn't move. Something about him scared her now, _really scared_ her. She couldn't move.

She could see his smile even through the sack, "Oh. _I_ remember." One of his hands slid down from her shoulder to her waist and pulled her closer, "Right about... _here_."

**What... what the **_**fuck**_**...** Eve whispered, just as confused as her.

She just stared at him, and the stranger laughed, "Well if you're not gonna _play_ this is no fun! Come on, _Becks_. Let's play."

"Who are you." She said, finally.

He laughed again, "You know who I am, we've been chatting away for _weeks_ now!"

"No. I know _Crane_. I haven't met _you_ before. What's your name."

He paused, and then smirked, leaning down close, whispering in her ear, "_Scarecrow_."

"Scarecrow." Her heart pounded. Too close. Too... _different_. This one... This one scared her. "Interesting."

"Mmm, do you like it?"

"I said it was interesting."

"_I_ said do you _like_ it." His hand gave her hip a playful squeeze and she flinched.

"I couldn't care less what you call yourself, to be honest." She replied, making a good attempt at sounding indifferent, "What's in a name?"

"Then why d'ya ask?"

"I was... interested."

"_Interested_?" Scarecrow repeated, amused.

"Curious." She corrected, quickly.

"_Curious_, _ah_, now _that's __**different**_. I'm quite a curious person myself. As is our friend _Jonathan_." He cocked his head slightly to one side, "He thinks he knows what you fear. And he's brought _me_ to the front to try it out." His hand slid down again, "And, believe me, the pleasure is all mine."

Rebecca moved to slap his hand away but he grabbed her wrist with a painfully tight grip, yanking it behind her back, laughing enthusiastically as she fought with his hold, "_Ohh_, _now_ you're starting to play, _that's_ more like it!"

"Where's Crane."

"Why d'you wanna know?"

"Let's... let's just say he's the lesser evil."

Scarecrow's eyes lit up behind the rough material, "Aw, you're _hot_ on him! Shoulda known, really." He moved closer, slowly letting her wrist go as he did, "So what d'you like about him, is it the big cold eyes? The strong body? The nice clothes? Or is it the fact that he drags you out of bed to experiment on you in the middle of the night?" he paused, and then gave a small, lopsided smile, "My my, Becky, quite the twisted one, _aren't_ we?"

"Where _is_ he."

Scarecrow tapped his temple with a finger, smiling, "In here somewhere. Locked away. _He can see and he can hear, but, luckily, can't interfere_."

"You're... you're his split personality?"

"It's... a little more _complex_ than that. Now. _Becky_."

"My name's Rebecca."

"Becks. _Darling_." He smiled, running a gentle finger over her lips. She shivered, reflexively. He paused for a moment and then shook his head, "This is too easy."

"Then why are you doing it." She said, her voice hoarse.

He lit up again, "Because it's _fun_!"

"Because Crane told you to." She corrected, firmly, her heart thumping but keeping her voice still, "What are you, his fucking _dog_? Come out on a call? Obey his orders? Don't you _have_ a mind of your own?"

He smiled, dangerously, "Becks. Listen here, now." His hand moved up again, pushing up her top so his skin was on hers. She couldn't prevent a shudder, and he smiled again. Then, abruptly, he dug his nails hard into her stomach.

Rebecca drew in a sharp hiss of breath as pain shot through her, and reflexively yanked to one side, getting away from him. Scarecrow withdrew his hand and examined his nails with interest. He'd dug down hard enough to draw blood, and now red liquid stained the tips of his fingers. He smiled, and then put his hand to his mask, rolling it up a little to expose his lips. He smiled at her again, and then put his fingers in his mouth, one by one slowly sucking them clean.

Rebecca watched the show, shaking slightly. Her fingers brushed against the cuts across her stomach, feeling sharp pain pinch at her.

Scarecrow smiled at her, "Don't _ever_... try and provoke me. Okay?"

She paused for a moment. Then she nodded, slowly.

"Good. Now, in answer to your question, Crane is weak. He doesn't have the stomach to do what needs to be done. However, I'm not complaining. It gives _me_ a chance to have some fun."

He leaned close, "_Rebecca_." He savoured her name for a moment, savoured her eyes flickering uneasily over his mask. "When you and Doctor Crane had that talk. The first time he tried his favourite little toy on you. You said... 'not in front of him'. What did you mean."

"I don't remember."

"Of course you do. _'Not in front of him'_, that's something specific, that _means_ something. What did you mean."

She shook her head, her voice rising a little in her fear, "I don't, I don't remember."

He smiled, "Well. Then I guess we'll have to draw it out _another_ way. Time for your medicine, Becks."

* * *

The cloud of gas hit her straight in the face and she reflexively gasped, dragging some in, coughing, choking.

He smiled, "Boo."

Rebecca glanced up and immediately jerked back against the wall, cursing, swearing, turning her head to the side and squeezing her eyes shut.

Scarecrow grinned behind his mask, and then grabbed hold of her chin, yanking her face back to his, "Open your eyes."

She shook her head, "No." The word came out as little more than a whisper, a plea.

He brushed his fingers across the girl's lips, savouring their softness, "Don't you want to _look_ at me, Becky? Open your eyes. Tell me what you see."

"_No_."

He slapped her across the face, hard, "_Open your eyes_!"

She let out a low whimper. Then she opened her eyes. Her gorgeous black eyes widened, delicious fear pumping through them, "Oh God."

He smiled, "Not exactly."

"Cortez."

Scarecrow cocked his head slightly to one side, "Interesting. Who's Cortez?"

"You're not Cortez. You're not him, you're _Scarecrow_, you're Scarecrow, you're not..." His hand brushed across her face and her breathing hitched. She yanked back, shaking her head, frantically, "Don't _touch_ me! _Don't touch me_!"

"Why not?" he asked, following her as she backed into the corner, smirking as she started when her back hit the two walls, glancing back at it for only a second before once again fixing her eyes on him. "Why _not_." He breathed again, moving so she was forced to press back against the walls to avoid touching him.

Her eyes flickered to the door and he laughed, "It's nice and open, sweetheart, just how you like it. That help any?"

"Oh God." She whimpered again, "It's not real. You're not real. You're not real."

"I thought you were Catholic. Using the Lord's name in vain, _shame_ on you."

"I _was_ Catholic. _Was_."

"Mmm, and who pulled you away? Was it me? This man standing in front of you? How'd he do it, hey? How'd he pull you away from your faith?"

"You're not real. You're Scarecrow. _Scarecrow_, you're _**Scarecrow**_!"

His brain momentarily shut down as he heard her crying out his name, so scared, and in the few moments it took to get it started again, he had stepped forwards, crushing his body against hers, and taken hold of her throat.

Her beautiful doe eyes fluttered closed as she felt every inch of him pushed against her, and she shuddered so hard he felt it run through his body. He lost control again and lowered his lips to her neck, pushing the mask up with his arm to free his mouth, licking and then biting at her throat, hard, savouring her winces, the small, pained noises this brought from the back of her mouth.

However, something was bothering him.

_She won't scream. _Scarecrow said, frustrated, _Why won't she __**scream**__?_

_Because she's strong._ Crane answered, _So __**break**__ her._

He grinned. He let go of her throat and returned his hand to her chin, gently opening her mouth, sliding a finger inside to just brush against her teeth, "You have such... _beautiful_ lips."

The words seem to pull something up in her for she gave that gorgeous little whimper again, closing her eyes even more tightly, sinking down to the floor to bury her head in her knees.

Scarecrow followed her, kneeling down in front of her, hand stroking her hair.

The girl had started muttering again, whispering, rocking gently as her voice cracked, "Ave... Ave Maria... gratia plena... Dominus tecum."

He frowned. _What is she...?_

_It's the Hail Mary, _Crane noted, calculatingly, _The Hail Mary in __**Latin**__... Interesting..._

"...ora pro nobis... norbis peccatoribus nunc, et in hora mortis nostrae. Seven. Fourteen. Twenty-one, twenty-eight, thirty-five... forty-two... forty-nine."

_That's her coping mechanism,_ Crane said again, sharply, _**Stop**__ it._

"Fifty-six, sixty-three, seventy, seventy-seven -"

_How the hell am I supposed to __**stop**__ her? _Scarecrow asked, watching her count away, her voice muffled slightly by her angle and her knees covering her mouth.

_Use your imagination._

He paused for a moment. Then he shrugged.

"...hundred and five, hundred and twelve, hundred and -"

Scarecrow grabbed her long red hair and yanked her head out from her knees, instantly covering her lips in a ferocious kiss.

* * *

Rebecca's eyes widened as his mouth muffled her reflexive gasp, and she immediately fought against his tight grip, desperately, the feel of this man's lips on hers more than she could bear.

He laughed as she started fighting again, and pulled her closer, kissing her again. She managed to yank out of his grip, feeling the burlap sack scratch against her skin, recoiling back.

Cortez - _no, __**Scarecrow**_ - laughed again, easily pulling her lips back onto his, pushing her head back into the corner so she couldn't pull back again, and then his hand moved, releasing her hair, going down to her throat, pressing down on the artery. She could feel her pulse against his fingers - _**one**__ two three four __**one**__ two three four __**one**__ two three four_ - it was practically a _hum_, so fast, so frantic.

The man moaned into her mouth, "So scared." She felt his body tense against her and felt like she was going to be sick.

His hand was moving again, down to her thigh, moving up, and what was he doing, _God_, he was undoing her shirt, pulling at the buttons, undoing them one by one, and his hands were on her skin, on her stomach, and he was pushing upwards and then...

Then he stopped.

* * *

Rebecca opened her eyes, hesitantly. She looked at him. Cortez looked back. He smiled, "I think that's enough for today."

She just stared at him. Then she shook her head, "I don't... I don't..."

"Understand?" he completed, raising an eyebrow, "Well. I'm not the expert. But according to _Doctor Crane_, one of the most prominent parts of fear..." he leant down and licked her cheek, slowly, drawing out an unwanted shudder, "...is _anticipation_. _So_, _Becks_... it's your lucky day." He stood up, moving away so that not a sliver of skin was touching her. He nodded at the door, "Run along now, sweetheart."

Rebecca got slowly to her feet. She stared at him. At Cortez. He was letting her go. Playing with her. Like a cat does with a mouse.

Before eating it.

Cortez - _**Scarecrow**__. He's __**Scarecrow**__, Rebecca_ - raised an eyebrow as she just stood there, motionless, "Oh, I'm sorry, didn't you hear me? I said _**RUN**_!"

The word echoed through the room and her soul, and she knew it was the toxin, it was whatever the fuck he'd poisoned her with, but fear struck straight through her and she jumped to her feet, not needing telling again, and sprinted towards the door, slamming it shut behind her.

* * *

Scarecrow moved over to the tape recorder on the desk and turned it off. He stayed still, watching the door, feeling the doctor slowly slip back into place.

"Hm." Crane stated, neutrally, "That went well."

Scarecrow laughed.


	16. Chapter 16: Covering Tracks

**Chapter 16: Covering Tracks**

"_Have you got a cell phone?"_

"_Yes I have."_

"_With a hands-free set?"_

"_Yes."_

"_Can I borrow it? Just for a second. I want to show you something."_

"_Of course. Here. May I ask why?"_

"_Well. When you're schizophrenic, everyone seems to think... you do things without reason. One of the guys at the hospital used to... stick __**speakers**__ everywhere. Not connected, or anything, just speakers. Everyone thought he was just nuts, but that wasn't it. He put them there to kind of... __**justify**__ it. To justify the voices, to __**explain**__ them."_

"_A justification for auditory hallucinations."_

"_Exactly. Now. I don't use speakers. But, I've found... when I walk round the halls talking to myself... so long as I've got this piece of worthless plastic wrapped around my ear... no-one cares. Well worth ten dollars."_

"_So yours is not for justification, yours is for... peace of mind."_

"_Peace of mind, Doctor Crane? Very poor choice of words."_

Doctor Crane stopped the recording. He paused for a moment, looking at the frozen image on the screen. Himself, sat at the chair just meters away from him right now, pen in hand, frozen in the act of jotting down another note. And the girl, sat as far back in her chair as she could, converse-clad feet up on the green leather, knees in close, arms around them. Rocking slightly.

He reached over and tapped the play button again.

"_Ah, of course. I apologise."_

"_Don't worry about it."_

_Crane shifted in his seat, leaning towards her, "Do you care what others think about your condition?"_

"_No."_

"_That was quick."_

"_Yes, it was. Because I don't."_

"_Mm. Does __**Jane**__?"_

_There was a pause, "Sometimes."_

_Another long silence. "You seem uncomfortable, Miss Wells."_

"_I'm __**always**__ uncomfortable."_

"_Of course. But not __**this**__ uncomfortable. Is this about the hallucinations again?"_

_She shook her head, firmly, "They weren't hallucinations, they happened."_

"_Hm. And have you had any more hallucinations about the staff? __**Warrick**__, for instance?"_

"_That __**wasn't a hallucination**__."_

"_And what about the __**other**__ hallucinations you have. The ones about me. Are those still occurring?"_

_The girl hesitated. She didn't meet his eyes. "It happened." She whispered, shaking her head, slowly, "I know it happened."_

_He flicked through his notes, "The latest one was... the time I threatened you, wasn't it. You believe I threatened to drug you, is that correct? To perform a physical examination."_

"_It happened."_

"_If that was so, Miss Wells, if I wanted a physical examination, why did I not simply drug you whilst you were still asleep? It would have been much easier, wouldn't it?" she just looked at him. He sighed, and shook his head, "Miss Wells. You are going into remission. Your schizophrenia is heightened, your hallucinations much more realistic. Surely you can see how typical of your illness these hallucinations are? Paranoia? Fear?"_

_She looked at him for a long time. "It... __**happened**__."_

* * *

Crane stopped the recording again. His eyes stayed on the screen, on Wells. It had taken three whole sessions to convince her that the physical examination had been a hallucination. This was the second. The third had been _much_ more productive. But he always ended up returning to this one. Watching it through, intently, to see what it could possibly be that he had missed. For he _must_ have missed _some_thing.

Just _listen_ to the girl. At this point she was still fully aware that she had not been hallucinating during the exam, fully aware that it was real, and yet she sat there, perfectly calmly, explaining out her coping mechanisms! As if she wasn't afraid of him at all!

The introduction of Scarecrow had, of course, altered that a bit. He thought it had gone quite well, despite his alter ego's obvious frustration at the lack of more vocal expressions of her fear. They'd get to that in time. As soon as he figured out what her true phobia was.

Crane closed down the first digital recording and pulled up the next, the one of her first meeting with Scarecrow, cycling through to the part he needed.

"_Boo."_

He watched the expression on her face, visible even with the somewhat grainy recording, watched her flinch back into the wall, swearing quickly under her breath, closing her eyes shut so she didn't have to look at whatever she saw in front of her.

"_Open your eyes."_

"_No."_

"_Don't you want to __**look**__ at me, Becky? Open your eyes. Tell me what you see."_

"_No."_

"_**Open your eyes**__!"_

Seeing the fear and vulnerability again in those black eyes was enough to make Scarecrow stir inside of him. _"Oh God."_

"_Not exactly."_

"_Cortez."_

"_Interesting. Who's Cortez?"_

"_You're not Cortez. You're not him, you're __**Scarecrow**__, you're Scarecrow, you're not... Don't __**touch**__ me! __**Don't touch me**__!"_

He paused and fast-forwarded.

"_Ave... Ave Maria... gratia plena... Dominus tecum. __S-Sancta Maria, Mater Dei__..."_ she missed out a line there, didn't she? What line was that? He'd have to check. Probably of no importance, but... _"...ora pro nobis... norbis peccatoribus nunc, et in hora mortis nostrae. Seven. Fourteen. Twenty-one, twenty-eight, thirty-five -"_

He shut it off, shaking his head. The fact that she was had once been such a devout Catholic that she knew her prayers even in Latin was interesting. It meant that there would have to have been something particularly nasty to shake her into abandoning it. This Cortez... he was the key. If he could only find out who he was.

The phone on his desk rang, and, deftly, Crane ignored it. He knew who it was. It was Werner, Nurse Werner, the young nurse from the patient's previous hospital. She'd rung three times in the last hour, and he'd ignored each one of them.

Crane waited until the answering machine picked up, and then the click as the caller hung up. Then he leant over and tugged the wire out of the wall. It was too late for anybody apart from that woman to be ringing him. No need for the phone now.

He clicked through her messages, the ones he had kept out of some strange, calculated interest. He found the one he was looking for and clicked it to play.

"_Good morning, this is Nurse Werner from Trenton Psychiatric Hospital, I'm calling concerning one of our patients who has recently transferred to your facility, Miss Rebecca Wells."_

She sounded calm, confident. She showed no sign of unease at speaking on an answering machine, as many others did. Crane wondered whether she'd written down everything she needed to say before she had called.

"_You may know that I was Wells' prior nurse, and I worked with her for over a year. I hope you received the tapes of her sessions I sent with permission from Doctor Moss, I didn't know when they would arrive, but I thought it couldn't take longer than a few days."_

It had taken even less time than _that_. He had had the tapes for over a month before the nurse had called. It was just a matter of the right sort of convincing with the right sort of people and you could get _any_thing from hospitals nowadays.

"_Rebecca and I created a close professional relationship, and I would very much appreciate being kept up to date with her progress, including any changes of medication and any change in her attitude towards her illness."_

Crane noted once again how she referred to the patient both as 'Rebecca' and 'Wells', and showed no discomfort with either. Interesting.

"_Doctor Crane, I'll be frank. I am concerned for Miss Wells as a nurse is concerned for a patient. I am sure you understand. I know you are a busy man. Maybe I am having trouble letting go, so to speak. But I would appreciate it if you could give me a call back. My cell phone's 609-907-2779, I'm available most times of day. Thank you for your time, goodbye."_

That had been the first call he'd got. There had been more. And more. Each one was spoken in a calm, firm tone, her 'nurse voice', but, as the weeks went by, he could hear something else in her voice. Something almost like anger. Something almost like fear.

He had returned the first few calls, explaining calmly and firmly why she still could not have access to his patient, how she had gone into remission, how she was experiencing wild and unpredictable mood swings, how she had been placed in solitary for her own protection. She had replied with sugar-sweet words and an incredibly polite tone that told him she didn't believe a word of it. He could sense something behind the well-rehearsed words. Something almost like accusation.

Scarecrow, of course, relished these exchanges, and, sometimes, it was all he could do to hold him back. Crane had had to watch his alter ego a lot more closely recently. His performance with Doctor Nowell had proved that. He should have seen it coming. She was a beautiful woman, and their being alone in his office, outside of the hospital's hours, her trying to 'comfort' him during his 'weakness', and her fear when he had sat down beside her... he should have known that it would prove too much for Scarecrow to resist. Thankfully he'd managed to regain control before he did something they'd regret. Inmates were one thing. Staff were another.

Crane clicked onto the most recent message, giving a small grim smile as a now familiar voice played back, proving him right. Then he frowned. He listened to the message all the way through, carefully. The machine gave the date stamp and he sighed. Apparently he'd pushed her just that little bit too far. She was coming here. To Arkham. The twenty-first, Monday morning. Nine days time.

Crane sighed again, and then shook his head, getting to his feet. He had got a lot of work to do if Werner was going to be showing up on their doorstep. It was nearly midnight, but he never usually slept much anyway. He had some research to do. He had some well-paid 'friends' in high places, and he was sure they wouldn't be averse to doing a little checking around for him.

Starting with Cortez...

* * *

Rebecca dreamt of New Year's Eve. 2008. She dreamt of how cold it had been that year, how the snow had come unusually deep. She made a snowman in the driveway, and her father backed over it in the four by four coming home from work.

She dreamt she was walking, walking through the snow, oblivious to the cold due to her long, thick coat, her gloves, her scarf. She needed to get out of the house for a bit, nothing to do with the house or the occupants, more to do with the fact that she was a naturally active person, and without a few hours at least outside per day she would go absolutely mad. It was snowing. A car pulled over beside her. She got in.

_Off home, yeah? That's this way? How 'bout I give you a ride? Whatcha say? I'm goin' past anyways._

She dreamt she sat there, silent for the whole ride, watching the driver. She couldn't see his face, no matter how hard she tried. Her eyes were hazy, and whenever she looked at him the image swam so much that she had to look away, feeling a little sick. There was something on the radio, a song that was turning her stomach as she listened to it, but she couldn't remember the name.

She was home, key in the lock, one foot on the step leading up to the door. It was red. He was beside her. Why was he beside her? Had she asked him to come in? Offered him a cup of coffee? Had they broken down in the car? Was she letting him use the phone to call for a pickup?

_Miss Wells, I'm Doctor Crane, as I'm sure you know._

They were inside, but this wasn't right, this wasn't her home, this was a place full of big, empty halls full of doors, the walls painted a pale, pastel blue. And they weren't alone, there were others, loads of them, and she turned, frowning at the man, she didn't understand, she was confused.

She dreamt hands were dragging her down corridors, down stairs, deeper into the maze, to a cold, dark room, empty. Except for them.

_It's good that you're here. So we can meet. I know it's difficult for you to be here. Thank you so much._

"Hey, freak." One of the men hissed, a hand grabbing her wrist, yanking her back, "How you doin'?"

Another hand brushed across her arm, her shoulder, "Not so tough _now_, _are_ you."

"Well if you're not gonna _play_ this is no fun! Come on, _Becks_. Let's play."

_You are so beautiful. You have such... beautiful lips._

**Rebecca. You've got to be careful here. This place isn't Trenton. You're going to get yourself killed.**

She dreamt of that day. She dreamt of them taking her away, up to another room, and the door closing firmly shut behind her. She dreamt of her father.

_Please, just don't... don't hurt him. Please._

_What's it worth?_

* * *

Rebecca jerked bolt upright with a shallow gasp. Her hands instinctively went to her ears but she could still hear them, _God_, she could still hear them, the voices, they were channelling them, words and yells and jeers and laughter and it was tearing through her head and water spilled down her cheeks.

**PULL YOURSELF TOGETHER!**

Rebecca started. Her hands lowered from her ears, slowly, shakily. She bit her lip once again, blood trickling down her chin as she went too deep.

**Fuck's sake, Becks.** Eve snarled, though now the expression was more weary than disgusted, _**Cliché**_**, much? Get the hell over it. Get up. Sort yourself out.**

Slowly, she obeyed. She got to her feet, once again smoothing down the tangled, torn sheets. How she still managed to find the strength to tear this fabric when she had been locked in the same room for almost a month, barely eating, was beyond her. During the day she felt like she was going to crack into pieces with the slightest amount of strain. Maybe this was why. She was using all her energy in her sleep.

The irony made her smile. Then laugh. And laugh. She had to sit back down on her bed because she was laughing so hard, so hard it hurt, but she couldn't stop it, couldn't control herself. She was finding a lot of things funny lately. She was crying. And then she was okay again, just like that.

She took her blanket off the bed and huddled down in the corner facing the door, pulling it over her.

She wouldn't be sleeping any more tonight.


	17. Chapter 17: Combating Boredom

**Chapter 17: Combating Boredom**

_Sunday, December 13__th__._

Rebecca sat in the corner, rocking slightly. She didn't know how long it had been since the nightmare, provoked by 'Doctor' Crane scaring the shit out of her with his alter ego, since her little 'freak-out' moment this morning, but now she was completely and utterly bored. This didn't worry her so much. Schizophrenics were prone to huge mood swings, she knew that. Eve's hyperactive influence was pushing through the strongest today, which made her perfectly ordinary cell even more boring.

Her mind jumped at the slightest noise, scattering the voices in panic, and it took some time for them to get organized again. Rebecca pictured the smaller, less dominant voices as something like a group of timid mice, slowly edging into the picture only to run terrified at the first sign of another living thing.

A group of mice... What's the collective name for a group of mice? A litter? A pack? A scamper? A scamper of scampering mice... If it wasn't, it should be.

There was a low, electronic buzz as her door unlocked, and then slid open. Rebecca watched cautiously until she saw the nurse slipping the plastic bolt into place, and then relaxed.

The nurse moved over to her, equally wary, green eyes flittering over her, "Good morning, Rebecca. Do you remember me? Do you know my name, Rebecca? It's Nurse Rodriguez. Do you remember?"

She just looked at her, blankly. The nurse sighed and shook her head, but then her attention was caught by the still full tray of food on the floor at the foot of her bed, "You haven't eaten."

She glanced up at her, frowning slightly, "What's the collective name for a group of mice?"

"You need to eat three meals a day, or you'll get ill."

"Apparently I'm not hungry."

She frowned a little, "_Apparently_?"

She shrugged, casually, "Well. The majority ruled. Which is a shame, really. Eating might have helped make a dent in this insufferable _boredom_."

Nurse Rodriguez hesitated. Then she shook her head, "If you continue along this path you're gonna end up with an IV. Do you want that?"

She conferred for a moment, and then nodded, "Apparently I do."

"You don't mean that. Miss Wells, you really must -"

Rebecca rolled over her protests: "A herd of mice? A _gang_ of mice? No, doesn't really fit, does it... A brood?"

"Miss Wells."

"Maybe I should ask Doctor Crane... Is it time for therapy already?"

Rodriguez sighed, "No. Your therapy has been cancelled for today."

She glanced up, for the first time interested, "Oh, what's that for? Do I get time off for being a good little crazy?"

"Doctor Crane's... _unavailable_."

Her attention perked again, "How d'you mean _unavailable_."

She shrugged, "Maybe he's on vacation."

"Crane doesn't take vacations."

"Then maybe he's ill."

"_Ill_? If that man were on his _death_bed he'd still have patients sent in so he could psychoanalyse them." Rebecca looked at the nurse long and hard, "What are you trying to hide. Where is he really."

Rodriguez sighed again, "You don't trust me."

"I don't trust _any_one."

"I know. And it's a shame. Maybe some people you... _can_ trust. Ever think of that?"

She rolled her eyes, "Of course I have. But, to paraphrase the words of Terry Pratchet, I'll be more enthusiastic about trusting people when there's evidence of that ever happening the other way _round_."

"You think people don't trust you?"

She laughed, "Rodriguez, I'm not gonna insult your intelligence by answering that question. I figure a nurse has gotta know _some_thing, right?"

She didn't seem offended, which was good, she supposed. Maybe the woman would learn some common sense.

"Alright. Well, I'm sorry for bothering you, Rebecca." She turned back to the door, glancing at the plate on the way, "Do try to eat something. Anything, just something."

Rebecca hesitated as she opened the plastic lock, "Nurse?"

* * *

Rodriguez turned back, slipping the plastic back into place, "Yes?"

"Have... have you got time to talk?" the girl gave a small, wry smile, "I'm bored."

"Bored?"

"Well, yeah. You take one look at this place and tell me you wouldn't go insane with boredom after spending a month here alone."

She had thought that herself, of course. Rebecca was a young woman, one who apparently craved activity. This place must be hell for her.

She moved further into the room, deciding to pick up on something _else_ she had said: "You don't want to be alone?"

"Oh, _hell_ yeah, I do. Much easier that way. But... c'mon, I'm dying here." She nodded at the bed, gesturing to her, "Would it kill ya? Please?"

The nurse paused, thinking about it. She shouldn't even be here; she was doing a favour to Andrea, checking up on her ex-patient. But... she supposed half an hour or so couldn't hurt. She nodded, sitting down on the bed, "Okay. What do you want to talk about?"

"Well, I guess, first off, what's your name?"

"Nurse Rodriguez."

She rolled her eyes again, "Your _real_ name."

She didn't pause, "Claire. Claire Rodriguez."

"Claire. That's nice. Pretty. D'you know what it means? It's of French origin, and it means -"

"Clear and bright." She completed, well aware herself. She loathed the name, and the meaning.

"Exactly."

She hesitated. Then she started: "Rebecca..." the word had been said far too cautiously, and the girl seemed to immediately pick up on it, "Seeing as we're talking... maybe I could ask something of you."

"That depends what it is." She answered, carefully.

"I've been talking with Doctor Nowell -"

"Andrea?" she asked, sharply, looking fully interested for the first time since she had arrived.

Claire's heart fluttered in the fact that she remembered her old doctor, "Yes, Andrea. She's been asking about you, about your progress."

"She has?" Wells sounded almost too eager, almost too desperate.

"You had a good relationship with Doctor Nowell?" she clarified, thoughtfully.

The girl's enthusiasm faded a notch, "I... I only knew her for a few weeks. Haven't seen her in... in a couple of months, maybe."

"She was your psychologist, right?"

"Yeah. Before..." there was only the slightest hesitation, but the trained nurse still heard it, "Before Crane."

Claire looked at her, "You don't like Doctor Crane, then?"

She shook her head, immediately, "I never said that."

"You don't have to."

"I, I don't, I mean, I don't -"

"Rebecca." She interrupted, gently but firmly, "It's okay. It's alright. Anything you say to me... it's confidential. Okay?"

The girl looked at her for a long time, "How do I know he didn't send you. Didn't send you to find out... to find out whether I'll tell anyone. Whether I'd tell."

This was... odd. But not unexpected of paranoid schizophrenia, she supposed... "Why are you afraid?"

She gave a small snort, "I'm not afraid of Crane."

"Then who _are_ you afraid of?"

Rebecca didn't reply. She looked down at the floor, her fingers winding an aimless pattern in the blanket over her. This was obviously not a train of conversation that she wanted to follow down.

Claire hesitated, and then glanced around her, looking for something to say that would bring her back again, "Y'know, you _could_ do with some books in here. I'll have a word, see what I can do, if you're that bored, then -"

"With different personalities it's sometimes hard to keep them all in check." She interrupted, abruptly, her voice low, thoughtful, "There'll always be two that conflict, quite often violently. Direct opposites of each other."

She paused, listening to the girl speak. She spoke of things that only she could understand. It was... fascinating.

"Two direct opposites, like the ego and the id. And they'll fight, and one will win. In some cases, in the cases that are more leaning towards MPD than schizophrenia, they'll take the reigns for a while, until the other personality surfaces again." The girl paused, looking blankly down at the floor, "It's dangerous. _So_ dangerous. You never know when one might break through. And, if it's the _wrong_ one..." she left her sentence hanging, shaking her head, slowly.

The nurse looked at her. A familiar pain flickered inside her chest, and she tried to bury it. She shook her head, "How do you cope?"

Then Rebecca looked up, catching her eyes, "Me? C'mon. Do you really think we're talking about _me_?"

* * *

When the door opened, both women started. Nurse Rodriguez got to her feet, calming herself down, brushing the creases out of her scrubs, ready to address whoever was at the door. She gave a small, almost-forced smile as she saw who it was.

Warrick gave her a grin, "Hey, Claire, darlin'. How's it going?"

She suppressed her grimace at the pet name. She wasn't particularly fond of this particular orderly. And _he_ was the _head_. It wasn't anything about his work, he had earned his place well. No, it was something about _him_. There was something about him that she couldn't describe, and she didn't like it.

But you couldn't treat someone any different because of vague, unspecified feelings against them. Claire forced her smile to seem less plain polite and more genuine, "Very well, thank you Trenton. Just talking to a patient." She glanced over his shoulder at the two nurses behind him, "Sam, Harrison, hey."

"Hey, Rodriguez." Harrison replied, giving a small smile.

"We're just here to give Miss Wells her medication." Trenton said, smiling, "If that's okay, of course."

She shook her head, "Oh, no, please, don't let me stop you."

She moved, going to get out of their way, but a hand caught hold of her sleeve.

She glanced back over her shoulder, frowning. Rebecca had got to her feet. Her eyes were fixed on the head orderly behind her. Then, slowly, she moved her eyes onto hers, "Don't leave me with him."

Claire frowned again, "What do you mean?"

"Don't leave me with him." She repeated, her voice completely emotionless, like she was asking for the _time_, or something, "Please."

She hesitated. She followed her gaze to the orderlies. Trenton was still standing at the door with a small, confused frown. Then realisation passed over her, and she nodded. Of course. The three orderlies were men. _Big_ men. Andrea had said something about her once being abused. Of _course_ she'd feel threatened by them, she'd feel _terrified_.

Rodriguez nodded, immediately, "Okay. Okay, alright. I'll stay." She glanced over her shoulder again, "That okay, Trenton?

He nodded, moving further into the room, "Fine by me."

Sam and Harrison followed his lead, instantly moving over to the girl, taking firm holds on her wrists. Rebecca jerked away and they immediately pinned her down onto the bed, kneeling by her side so they could hold her hands back against the wall.

Claire shot Trenton a glance and he shook his head, "She's been a bit... _off_ with her medication recently. Doesn't wanna take it." His eyes moved to the girl on the bed who was yanking against the men restraining her, sharply, "Come on, Rebecca, calm down. We're not gonna hurt you."

Rebecca's wild, dark eyes locked on Claire, and she gave her a small, reassuring smile, "You're gonna be okay. Calm down. You need to take your medication now. Okay?"

The girl disappeared from her vision behind Trenton's broad back, and the nurse shook her head, "She's been a little disconnected recently, apparently. Detached. Withdrawn."

"Who's noticed that, then?"

"Doctor Nowell."

"Andrea? Well, I'm inclined to believe her, then." He got out a box of tablets and shook two into his hand. He moved onto the bed, kneeling over her, "Come on, Rebecca, open up."

"She has been very bored recently, maybe that's got something to do with it? If we could get her some books, or something?"

Warrick pushed the tablets onto her lips until he managed to get them into her mouth, "Bored? Well, we'll have to do something about that, won't we? C'mon, Rebecca, take them down."

He shifted on top of her and the girl visibly cringed and shivered, turning her head to one side. Rodriguez frowned and took one sharp step to the side, but Trenton had one hand on her shoulder and one hand on the side of her face, completely standard procedure. Wells seemed to be refusing to open her mouth again, so the orderly tightened his grip a little, forcing it open, checking the tablets had been swallowed. Then he nodded, satisfied, and immediately climbed off of her, nodding at the others to release their grips.

Claire's pager went off on her belt, and she glanced down at it, taking it off and looking at the message for a second. She sighed, "I've been paged."

Rebecca's eyes were fixed cautiously on the three orderlies, "Bad timin', doc, I've gotta tell ya..."

She looked at her for a second, "There's a two-sixteen going on in G-Block. I have to go." She moved over to her, putting a hand on her arm, "You gonna be okay while I'm gone?"

"She'll be fine," Warrick replied, smoothly, "We've gotta stay here for a bit, try and see if we can get her to eat something. She's skin and bones."

Rebecca's eyes had moved onto hers. Locked. Claire found it hard to look away. Then, hesitantly, she shook her head, "Goodbye, Rebecca. See ya, Trenton. See ya, guys."

"See ya."

* * *

Rebecca watched the nurse walk away up the corridor through the gap in the door. Her heart pounded so hard in her chest she could almost taste it. The hold of the two orderlies had been viciously tight, tight enough to stop the blood going to her hands, but it was when Warrick was on top of her that she had gotten the real evidence that she should be afraid. He had pushed against her, unnecessarily firmly if he had just wanted to keep her to the wall, and what she had felt had made her shudder with disgust.

He was hard.

She had tried to keep her face clear, as she knew he wouldn't like it if she gave anything away to Nurse Rodriguez, but when he slid down over her, brushing his hand momentarily across her thigh, and then pushing against her, feeling him against her, she couldn't prevent a wince, a shudder, a turn of her head.

She hadn't freaked out as much as she would usually have. The bizarre thought entered her head that maybe she was immunizing herself against it slightly. That maybe constant exposure to her fear was diluting the strength of it slightly.

_Doctor Crane is gonna be __**maaad**__..._ she thought, grimly amused.

Warrick finally looked at her, smirking, "So. How did I do?" he moved towards her, his eyes moving over her with a vulgar precision, and her heart sped, "I think I did fairly well. Considering how fuckin' gorgeous you looked pinned against that wall... it took everythin' I had not to just screw you right there, and to hell with your pretty little nurse. Think I showed quite some _restraint_. Except..." he was right in front of her, and he reached out, taking a bit of her hair, stroking it, "That's not the game we're playin' today, sweetheart."

Rebecca couldn't prevent a frown. _What_? What did he mean? She knew what he was planning, what he wanted. She hadn't mistaken the... _physical_ display of his desire. So what the hell was he up to?

He caught the confusion in her eyes and gave a short bark of a laugh, "Don't get too comfortable yet. I've got something even more fun planned than just fuckin' you, freak." His eyes scanned her body again, "Not that I _won't_, of course."

"Of course." She echoed, weakly.

He laughed. Then he shook his head, "We got ya a little _friend_ to play with today. Cute little Claire said you had been _bored_ recently, so we got ya someone to talk to. Would ya like that?"

She didn't reply, and he grabbed her chin, forcing her to face him, "I said, would you _like_ that."

She paused, "I'm a schizophrenic. I've got _plenty_ of people to talk to."

Warrick laughed again, "Well, this guy's gonna be right up your street, honey. Two peas in a fucking crazy pod, that's what you are."

Rebecca tried to control her shivering. _Guy_?

The orderly glanced over his shoulder at the others, Sam and Harrison, "Bring 'im in."

They obeyed, immediately, walking out of the door. Her eyes followed them, and then moved back to him. Apparently Warrick wasn't _entirely_ averse to just fucking her. His hand was sliding up her thigh, up her chest, squeezing, laughing as she flinched. His breathing was a little strained. She found herself praying that he wouldn't try to pin her down. She didn't think she could take feeling him against her again. Maybe this was the sort of thing the sick bastard got off on.

Her heart pounded. She felt physically sick, like she was going to hurl any second. But, again, the thought that this was diluting her fear came into her mind. If a man had even _looked_ at her before coming to this place she would have freaked out.

Maybe she just couldn't bring up the energy to care anymore.

There was clattering outside. Talking. A snarl and a vicious curse from one of the orderlies. The plastic bolt opened on her door, and Warrick glanced at it. He turned back to her, smiling, and then pressed something cold and metal into her hand, "Here you go, honey. Thought I'd give _you_ the choice. Have fun."

Rebecca glanced down. It was a small metal key. A handcuff key. She looked up again but Warrick had already left the room. She quickly averted her eyes, looking down at the floor, her hand squeezing tight enough on the key for it to hurt, heart fluttering. Someone was coming into her cell. The door clanged slightly as the plastic bolt was put back into place.

There was a moment of complete silence.

"Well hello _gorgeous_..."

Rebecca closed her eyes, wearily, immediately recognising the voice. _Just_ what she needed...


	18. Chapter 18: Making Friends

**Chapter 18: ****Making Friends**

Rebecca tried hard to keep her breathing stable. She didn't look up, keeping her eyes tracing the plain linoleum, "I was told you were back in town."

There was a thump as someone sat rather heavily down on the bed beside her, "Just couldn't _stand_ being out on the street any longer. Missed the _delightful_ company."

His voice was low, deep, almost a growl. His emphasis was... weird. He sounded like he was Sam the Microsoft reader, or something, just saying the words without really knowing the context. "The delightful company of killers and sociopaths?"

"Gotham's ordinary citizens can be... _so_ boring..."

She paused, licking her bottom lip, unconsciously. Then she glanced up. The sight froze her for a second, and she had to fight to pull herself back together, "You... you look different without your makeup."

The Joker raised an eyebrow, "As do you, I'm sure."

She looked him over, quickly. His hair was free of the green dye he usually wore, revealing remarkably ordinary, curly, golden blonde locks. His eyes were probably a little darker than chestnut, and his skin was pale despite the lack of white face paint. The scars on his face shone out, and she found herself quickly averting her eyes. He was wearing the orange jumpsuit that all the convicts wore, separating them from the inmates. Rebecca had thought 'convict' and 'inmate' were basically the same word. But apparently not.

His hands were fastened behind his back tightly with handcuffs, probably the handcuffs she had the key to in her hand, but he didn't look uncomfortable at all. He was probably used to wearing them, she guessed.

"You could, uh, do with a bit _more_, though."

"What?" she asked, shakily, pulling her eyes away from his locked hands.

He nodded at her, "Makeup. Maybe try going for something a bit less... _ordinary_."

She shook her head, "I... I think I'll stick with what I've got. I don't particularly like face paint."

"Shame..." he looked at her for a second, and then leant towards her, conversationally, "You look uncomfortable. Would you rather I kept the handcuffs on."

She wasn't surprised he had noticed. She licked her lip again, compulsively, "Well, now you mention it..."

He tilted his head, "Oh. Well, _that's_ not good, 'cause I, uh..." there was a rattle of metal, and he held out the open cuffs, "I already removed 'em." He leant towards her again, "Sorry."

Rebecca was staring at the handcuffs on the bed, "But how... how did you do that."

A small smile twitched at one side of his lips, "Magic." He moved a little towards her and she flinched back, putting her back to the headboard of the bed so she could see where he was. His lips twitched again, "Awww, shh shh shh, it's okay. I'm not gonna hurt you. I won't bite. I've already eaten." He glanced down at the tray on the floor, "Unlike _some_one..."

"How'd I know that."

He looked back up at her, "That I've already eaten?"

"That you aren't gonna hurt me."

He gave a predator's smile, "Be-_cause_... as gorgeous as you are, gorgeous... I barely even _know_ you. Maybe I'm a little curious." Abruptly he jumped to his feet, plonking himself down again far too close, sitting sideways on the bed, back against the wall, arm leant casually against the headboard, "_So_, uh... let's talk."

_**Breathe**__. _Jane commanded, firmly, _Just breathe. You're okay. You're fine. Keep your head._

She looked at him for a second. "Get your shoes off my bed and I might think about it."

He rolled his eyes, theatrically, and then kicked off the plastic asylum shoes, giving a small, satisfied smile as they hit the wall on the other side.

Rebecca nodded, slowly. She could do this. She could do this. "Thank you. What do you want to know."

"_Well_... _**first**_... what did _you_ do to warrant a little alone-time with _me_, hmm?"

"I'm not altogether sure, actually." She replied, keeping her voice calm, because that at least might make the mask turn into reality, "I pissed off the head orderly a while ago - Warrick."

He nodded, "Oooh yes, Short, Plain and Thickheaded, and how did you do _that_, hmmm?"

She gave a small, sharp laugh. Then she shook her head, "I wouldn't fuck 'im." She replied, picking up the strange, southern accent that Eve did so well, "And 'parently he took offence."

"Mmm... I can see _why_..." he moved again, and Rebecca felt a flash of panic shoot through her as she realised that she could now no longer watch both him and the door. The dark eyes scanned over her, and his head tilted to one side, his tongue flickering out to meet one of the scars, "Y'know, uh... you don't get that many pretty little girlies in Arkham... especially pretty little _red_heads..."

Her insides froze, and she forced up her courage again: "What about your little _Harley_?"

He looked at her, blankly, "What about her?"

"Well, d'you think she's gonna be happy that you're throwing yourself at some 'pretty little redhead'?"

"No. In fact I'm pretty sure she'll be _devastated_. In-con-_sol_-able."

Rebecca looked at him, realising straight away that he had said 'she _will_' instead of 'she _would_'. She shook her head, "So why -"

The Joker cut over her: "You've _met_ the ball-and-chain, then?"

She raised an eyebrow, "I very much doubt that _she_ is _your_ ball-and-chain. More the other way round, I would say." She shook her head, "If you told that girl to jump off a _cliff_ she'd do it. _Gladly_."

"Hmmm, yes... Is there a psychological explanation for that, d'ya think?"

"Yeah. She's an idiot."

That smile moved over his deformed lips again, "You know, I think I like you. Even though you _are_ quite rude."

"Rude?"

"Y'know, because we've been talking for at least five minutes and you haven't even _in-tro-__**duced**_ yourself."

She drew a breath, "Fine. Introductions, then. What's your name."

"Karl Franz Joseph Ludwig Hubert Georg Otto Marie von Habsburg-Lothringen." He gave her a small, pleasant smile when she raised an eyebrow, "Karl, for short."

"Pleased to meet you Karl. I'm Red."

"Mmm... _Red_... how... _a-ppro-pri-ate_..."

She shook her head, "It wasn't exactly my _choice_."

"Whose was it, then?"

"Girl I met. Ray-Ray."

He raised an eyebrow, "Ray-Ray? Now _there's_ a _fiiine_ little girly..."

She rolled her eyes, despite herself, "You're insatiable."

The Joker's tongue flickered, "Uh-huh. Y'know, _Red_... it's been _so_ long since I had a new friend to play with... Wanna be friends?"

He had moved closer. Slowly, he tucked his legs underneath him so he was almost kneeling. She glanced over the scene in front of her. One foot was on the floor and the other was tucked underneath her where she'd turned to face him; she could probably get up in less than a second. But... where would she _go_?

"Well," she said, slowly, "I guess... that depends on your definition of 'friends'."

He smirked, "Well. Let me show you."

He didn't move fast, but she found she couldn't move, and stayed frozen as he clambered over her, pinning her down to the bed and back against the headboard, hands either side of her shoulders on the wood. Rebecca's breathing was short, sharp, but she didn't say a word, just looked at him, motionless. The Joker bent his elbows a little bit and the motion brought him closer to her face. She couldn't help but shudder.

He smiled, going closer, "Oooh, it's the, uh, the _scars_, right?" he waited for an answer, and, when he didn't get one, moved even closer, "Wanna know how I got 'em?"

"Not really." She managed, her hectic breathing making it hard to speak.

She seemed to have surprised him. He raised his eyebrows, pulling back a bit, staring at her, "Well no-one's said _that_ before..."

"What, seriously?" she asked, frowning slightly, "No-one's said no? They've all sort of just nodded along?"

"Well, yes, actually..."

"Well I'm not. I don't wanna know." She hesitated for a second, "Does that mean anything to you? Do you care?"

"I'm not sure..." he sounded like he was being honest. But then, a good liar always does. Then he nodded, abruptly, "Okay. Alright. No story time for you. Punishment for being a bad little girly." He watched her relief she couldn't suppress, and smirked, "Bu-_t_... that doesn't mean we can't be friends. After all... friends forgive each other, _right_?"

One of his hands had left the headboard, and was now twiddling aimlessly with a lock of her hair. Her eyes locked onto his hand, her breathing becoming rough again, "There's cameras. There's probably a guard standing right outside that door, ready to stop it if it goes too far."

He stopped playing with her hair, fixing her a serious look, "You think? Hmm. Let's test it, shall we?"

* * *

Warrick glanced over the many security cameras the little bitch had in her room. Sound, as well. Wow. The Doc was obviously really interested in her. He watched the freak move closer and closer towards her, until she was practically sitting in his lap. He watched the fear bloom in her sexy-ass eyes, watched as all her muscles tightened, her breathing becoming so fucking clear, so fucking gorgeous.

"Well," the girl said, slowly, her voice trembling slightly, "I guess... that depends on your definition of 'friends'."

The clown smirked, "Well. Let me show you."

Warrick reached over and clicked off the monitor. He didn't think he'd ever been so hard in his life, and he knew watching this freak fuck her over would be more than he could stand. He got to his feet. He glanced at his watch. Sophie was on her break, and she was always an easy lay. Not the _best_ fuck he'd ever had, but right about now he'd settle for anything. He'd come back in an hour and see what was left. He hoped the freak didn't kill her. Or scar up that gorgeous little face of hers. But, hell, if he did, it couldn't be helped.

At least then the bitch would learn a lesson she would never forget.

* * *

The Joker moved faster than Rebecca would ever have thought possible, like a cobra, like a rattlesnake, grabbing her by the waist and throwing her down onto the bed, the top part of her body sliding off, nearly hitting the floor. Her hands reflexively shot out, catching her weight, and the Joker tightened his grip so she didn't fall, clambering on top of her again.

Rebecca objected immediately, struggling, despite the fact that she was looking for a relatively painful fall if he _should_ let her go, thinking only about getting away from him, "Get... get _off_ me, get _off_, _get OFF_!"

He leaned down and pushed a finger roughly over her mouth, "Shh."

She silenced, immediately, reflexively, her heart pounding in her throat. He smiled, and then grabbed her chin, abruptly, and pulled it to the right, forcing her to face her upside-down view of the door.

He paused, comically, "_Nnnnope_, sorry. Don't think there's anyone out there. _Hello_? Aren't you gonna stop me from violating and killing this poor little loony patient?" he waited, "No? Okay, then, suit yourself." He glanced back at her, smiling, "Fine by me."

She made a small, strangled sound in the back of her throat and fought with his hold, but she was upside-down and even the slightest amount of movement took far too much effort.

The Joker ignored her weak struggles, deftly, and shifted a little bit so his weight pinned down her legs, freeing his hands. She felt herself slide down a little and gave something close to a whimper, shifting the way she held up her weight on her hands.

She felt fingers lightly trace along her legs, "These pants do _wonders_ for you, _Red_. Really. You should wear them more often."

Rebecca managed to glance up a little and see she was wearing her black skinny jeans. She made a mental note to throw them in the trash the second he was out the fucking door.

His palms put down a little more pressure, running from her knees right the way up - or _down_ - to her thighs, his thumbs slipping down to stroke the insides. She struggled, trying to throw him off her, first trying to pull herself back onto the bed and then, after finding that impossible with the man's weight on her legs, yanking down, trying to continue her fall to the floor. Anything to get away from him.

Her t-shirt had fallen down slightly from her 'tumble', and his hands ran over her exposed stomach. She felt something warm and wet slide up her skin, around her navel, and shuddered violently when she realised it was his tongue.

The Joker laughed, and he leant down so she could see him even from her angle, "How's your head? Bet you're goin' a bit fuzzy, right? All the blood runnin' around inside there, yeah? What's it feel like? Feel a bit funny?"

"Joker." She managed, her head dizzy.

He cocked his head, "Yes, darl?"

"Let me be frank."

"And I'll be Anne. What's on ya mind, Frankie-boy?"

"Get your hands off me... or risk losing 'em."

He smirked, "I think I'll risk it, Frank. It is most _definitely_ worth it." She let out a low growl and he laughed again, "You seem nervous. Wonder what would happen if I did _this_."

He lowered himself down, abruptly, so he was flat out on her, and transferred a hand onto her throat and squeezed.


	19. Chapter 19: Smile

**Chapter 19: Smile**

Rebecca gasped, choking down a strangled breath. She couldn't breathe, she was upside-down, her head spinning, and all she could see in front of her was the Joker, his scars, stretching halfway up his cheeks, uncovered by their usual paint, somehow much more terrifying, "Joker -"

"It's _Anne_." He corrected, one finger coming up to tap her nose, like you do to a child, "Roll reversal, you should try it, it's fun. What d'ya need, Frank?"

"Get... get off me."

He frowned, exaggeratedly, leaning down to her as if he couldn't hear, "Sorry, what was that, didn't quite...?"

She managed to drag in a breath, "Get... _off_ of me."

Joker rolled his eyes, mockingly, and then released her throat, sitting up straight. She yanked in another lungful of air and then shook her head, pushing down on her hands in one swift movement, using the momentum to jerk herself back upright. She reached out and managed to grab a handful of his jumpsuit, stabilising herself, but too late realised how close this brought her to his face, and reflexively let go.

He caught her arm, sharply, stopping her from falling again, giggling slightly, "Wow, look at you _go_! Proper little athlete, aren't ya?"

She wormed and struggled her way out from under him, stumbling off the bed and to her feet, immediately going over to the door.

Eight sixteen twenty-four thirty-two forty forty-eight -

She could hear the voices again, and they weren't friendly, and she covered her ears with her hands, trying to block them out.

"Kill him. Kill him. _**Kill**__ him_."

No. She didn't kill. She didn't hurt people. That was who she was. She didn't kill.

**Hell with **_**that**_**, Becks. What you should be thinking is **_**whether**_** you can kill him. Whatcha gonna do, **_**talk**_** him to death?**

The Joker was watching her, leant back on the bed, casually, "You think you're gonna be able to squeeze through that? Lose a coupla _pounds_ and it'd be _easy_, you _definitely_ need to _eat_ more, Frank."

Fifty-six sixty-four seventy-two -

She shook her head, "You sound like the goddamned guards. I just need air. I need to see the door is open."

"But the door _is_ open." He pointed out.

Eighty, eighty-eight, ninety-six...

"I need to _feel_ that it's open."

Hundred and four... hundred and twelve... hundred and twenty... hundred and twenty-eight...

Slowly, she felt herself calming. She drew in deep, slow breaths, closing her eyes for a second, leaning her head down onto the wood. She could feel it. She could feel it open. It wasn't locked. She wasn't stuck here. Everything was fine. Everything was okay.

No. Nothing was fine. Nothing was okay. She was stuck in a room with a murdering sociopath. She was locked in a room with a mass murderer.

_No. Calm down. __**Cool**__ it, Rebecca. Calm yourself down._

"What you in here for anyways, Frank?" Joker asked, casually.

_Keep it together. Keep it together. __**Keep it together**__._

"Paranoid schizophrenia." She replied, her voice barely a whisper.

He nodded, appreciatively, "Ooh, nice diagnosis, so, uh, how many _voices_ ya got?"

"At the moment? Anything between two and sixteen."

"Least ya always got someone ta talk to."

She glanced back at him. And, just like that, he was back to normal. Back to his conversational, mildly interested stage.

She continued staring at him and he chuckled, "You're a very twitchy little thing, ya know that?"

She glanced down. Her fingers were tapping against her leg. She stopped them, forcefully, "Yeah. My meds aren't working. I'm a treatment-resistant; they're still looking for a type of medication that will work."

"Yeah? How's that goin' for ya?"

She shook her head, "Well. That depends. I guess _some_ people might _like_ having a symphony orchestra chatting away in their heads."

"Mmm... that good, huh?" he nodded towards her full plate again, "That somethin' to do with why you aint eatin', Twitch?"

"I guess. Apparently I'm not hungry."

"Mmm..." he straightened up and then abruptly turned, falling back so he was almost in the same position she had been, head back on the bed, looking at her upside-down, "Well, honey, isn't insanity a lot more... _interesting_? I mean, sanity is really just a one-trick pony, anyway, all you get is one trick - rational thinking. But when you're good and _crazy_... the sky's the limit!"

She watched him for a moment, "That's from The Tick."

He grinned, "Then The Tick is a _vvvvery_ astute guy."

"Actually, didn't he once say that clowning and anarchy don't mix?"

His smile grew, "Gorgeous, completely out of her mind, and knows nineties' comedies..." he said in a sing-song voice, "Well, Red, you're quite the package, aren't you?"

"1994, I was six, I used to watch it all the time."

The Joker looked at her suddenly, smiling slightly, like amused suspicion, "You were six in 1994? You're younger than you look."

"Thanks. I've heard being locked in an asylum for half your life can do a real job on you."

"Maybe asylum years are like dog years."

"Maybe they are."

He shifted a little, getting more comfortable, "How old are you in asylum years, then, _Red_?"

She didn't need to think about it for long, "If you're just multiplying the years I've been in an asylum... thirty-three."

"So you've been in an asylum for... two years."

She raised an eyebrow, impressed despite herself, "Wow. You're even better than _me_."

"Not including this one?"

"Nope. Soon I'll be forty." She shook her head, "_Dang_, that makes me sound old..."

He laughed, and Rebecca looked at him for a moment. He had succeeded in relaxing her slightly. Again. As if five minutes ago hadn't even happened.

He noticed her discomfort, and laughed again, "Little Red, you take life _faaaar_ too seriously." He paused, and then his smile turned a little darker, "What'll it take to put a _smile_ on that _pretty_ little face, hey?"

She shivered despite herself. His smile stayed on. The entire world and their _moms_ knew about the Joker. Especially the unlucky few that happened to live closer to Gotham, in New Jersey. She remembered reading about his first kill in the newspaper. And there had been more, and more, and more, all different except for one little detail - the ones he did personally... had had their faces carved open. Smiles permanently sliced into their flesh.

For once in her life, Rebecca was thoroughly relieved that the hospitals insisted on prison safety razors. Her eyes flickered to his mouth, to the scars around it. Watching her, his tongue slid out, and slowly licked around one of them, "For someone who don't wanna know the _story_, _darlin'_, you sure seem curious. You positive you don't wanna hear it?"

"Hundred percent," she replied, quickly, "I don't wanna know."

"Aww, well _you're_ no fun..." he watched her for a second, and then, abruptly, pitched himself upright, startling her. He shook his head for a second, like a dog, as if the blood had gone too quickly from his brain and he was feeling a little dizzy, but then returned his attention back to her, "Come sit back down over here."

Her eyes moved to where he had motioned, "Why."

He rolled his eyes, "Because it's po-_lite_-uh. C'mon. I won't _huuuurt_ you."

"You said that last time." She reminded, quietly.

He smirked, "Yeah, I did, didn't I? Sit back down."

She paused for a long time. Voices shouted at her, and she ignored every single one of them. She took a few hesitant steps forwards, "Move to the other side of the bed."

"I'm making you uncomfortable."

"Yeah you are. Now move to the other side of the bed."

He rolled his eyes again, but, surprisingly, did as he was told. She hesitated again, and then nodded, slowly, and sat down on the far side of the bed, nearest to the door.

"Your hair's a mess."

She looked at him for a second, "I guess gravity didn't agree with it."

"Guess so. Aint ya gonna fix it?"

"Why should I?"

"_Wellll_..." he sat back against the headboard, his head rolling back, lazily, "That's where you got ya name from, isn't it? Surely it means somethin' to ya."

"I actually don't like being called Red."

"Then why d'ya _in-tro-__**duce**_ yourself as Red. What's ya real name?"

"What's _yours_."

He smirked, "No no, nuh-uh-uh, ladies first."

She looked at him for a second, "No."

"Why not?"

"Because... because you'll twist it. Turn it into something else. End up calling me something worse than just my hair colour."

"Oh, believe me, sweetcheeks, I could think of a _lot_ worse things to call you. And all of them with_out_ knowing your name."

"Joker -"

"Anne." He interrupted, quickly, making her jump.

She shook her head, giving a small, nervous laugh, "You've gotta stop doing that, or you're gonna make me scream."

He smirked, and, before he even replied, Rebecca realised what she had said, "Well, not a bad idea, that, pumpkin..."

She shook her head, "Cut it out. And, y'know, _Anne_, I'd really appreciate it if you could rip your eyes off of my chest when you're speaking to me. Y'know, just for appearances."

His gaze didn't move, "Mmm. Difficult one..."

"I appreciate that. Couldya try?"

He gave a low, mockingly-weary groan, and wrenched his eyes upwards, focussing once again on hers.

"Thanks for that."

He shrugged, "You owe me one."

"Owe you _what_?"

He shrugged again, casually, "Haven't decided yet. _So_. Are you, uh, gonna tell me your name, or what?"

She looked at him, "Or what. I've told you. I don't want you knowing my name."

He sighed, wearily, "Killjoy. Maybe I should just ask Crane..."

"He's 'unavailable'."

"'Unavailable', huh? Wonder what he's up to... He _is_ your new doc, _right_?" she nodded, and he copied the action, thoughtfully, "Mm, I've heard little Johnny-boy's made you into his, uh, _favourite_ little lab rat."

She bristled at the accusation despite herself, "I'm _no_-one's damned lab rat."

He laughed, "Oooh, sorry there, Bugsy. Okay, you're not his _lab rat_. You're just his... _pet_."

He chose the word knowing what effect it would have on her, so she deliberately pushed all anger down deep, trying hard to not let a sign of it show on her face.

It seemed she hadn't succeeded, for he laughed again, "Well _that_ got you angry, _didn't_ it? Don't like to be seen as, uh, _pro-per-ty_ then, hon?"

She gave a low, bitter laugh. Then she shook her head, getting to her feet again, looking around the small room they had locked her in for a period of time she couldn't even _hope_ to estimate, "Stuck in _this_ hell... I might as _well_ be."

"Such a negative outlook, there."

"What, one you don't share?" he just raised an eyebrow at her, amused, and she shook her head, resentfully, "I'm not here... because I'm dangerous. I'm not here to make sure I don't hurt anyone. _Look_ at me, could I really hurt anyone? I'm stuck down here... so Crane can finally figure out a way to make me even more insane than I already am. So he can break me."

"The good doctor's taken a specific interest in you then, has he?"

She paused for a moment, eyes on the wall, "It's not just the doctor. It's not just Crane. It's... someone else."

"Someone else?" he asked, raising his eyebrows again.

She shook her head, "You wouldn't believe me if I told you. I'm a paranoid schizophrenic, remember?"

"Mm, and I'm an, uh, antisocial, sociopathic, narcissistic, personality-disorder-on-legs, with, uh, _bipolar depression_."

She frowned at that one, "They think you're _bipolar_? The doctors here really have no idea, do they?"

He smirked, smugly, "Nope. So. Tell me, nutcase. Who is it that's taken a bit of a fancy to ya."

She looked at him for a moment.

**What ya got to lose? **Eve pointed out, reasonably.

She nodded. Then she shook her head, "Doctor Crane's alter ego."

* * *

The Joker didn't react at all the way Rebecca thought he would, and, though she should have been used to that now, it shook her.

He laughed, "Ooh, so you've _met_ Scarecrow, have you?"

She was out of her depth for a few moments before she managed to pull herself together: "Wait, you know about Scarecrow?"

"Course I do! Good boy, _gooood_ boy... But, y'know, uh, sweetheart... straw burns _remarkably_ well..."

She paused again, and then shook her head, "But... but... what d'you mean?"

He laughed again, obviously enjoying seeing her so flustered, "_Every_one's met Scarecrow around here, sugarlips! Why d'you think the turnover rate in this little fun house of ours is so _high_?"

"But... everyone _knows_ about it? So why hasn't... why hasn't anyone..."

"Well, you said it best, honey-buns. We're all nut-jobs in here. Who's gonna believe us, hey, sugar?"

She hesitated, "Someone must. There has to be... _some_one... I mean, they can't exactly leave this place out of the law, can they?"

He raised an eyebrow, "You sure about that, darl?"

She looked at him for a long time. Then she shook her head, cursing softly under her breath and turning her back once again.

"I'm guessin' you're, uh... not a _fan_ of our good doctor then, hmm?"

She gave a sharp, sardonic laugh, "Just looking at him makes me wanna punch him straight in his arrogant little face."

"His arrogant, _gorgeous_ face." The Joker pointed out. She turned on him again, raising an eyebrow, and he smirked, "Don't act like you haven't noticed." She shook her head, letting out a small sound of disgust, and he giggled, "You've thought about it, haven't you. I bet you have. Ooh, look at you, you're thinkin' about it right now, aren't ya."

She looked at him for a moment. "_I'm_ not."

He laughed again, "But your, uh, _little friends __**are**_, _rrrright_?"

"I can't help what they think. Even if they _are_ absolutely insane..."

"Insane?" he stopped giggling for a moment to look at her, and then promptly burst into laughter again.

"Alright, okay, so maybe that wasn't the right choice of word. Let's just say... they don't seem to have much taste."

"Well," he managed through his growing hysterics, "If... if I had the chance... _I_ would, dollface."

She grimaced, "Urgh, now _there's_ a mental image I could have done without..."

"You... you are so homophobic."

She rolled her eyes, settling back down on the bed, letting him descend into helpless giggles.

"You... you know what..." he gasped, managing to calm his fit a little, "I... I _really_ like you. You're damned _hysterical_, sexy."

"Thanks, I've always wanted to be the source of hysteria for an antisocial, narcissistic, sociopathic clown..."

"I bet ya have." As abruptly as it had started, his laughing fit stopped. He stared at her, cocking his head to one side, like a dog.

"What." She asked, frowningly, slightly uneasy.

"It's just... you're a pretty clever one, aint ya, beautiful."

"Are you talking by your standards or by _Arkham's_ standards?"

"By _any_ standards. You're quite a sharp one."

"So?"

"So..." he sat strangely still, his attention locked on her, and the difference between his hyperactive twitching and this was unnerving, "How'd you end up in a place like this?"

She stiffened, instantly, "It's none of your business."

"Well _yeeaaaah_... but I wanna know."

"But I don't wanna tell you."

"So? Tell me anyway."

"No."

He sighed. Then he shook his head, "Well... you've put me in a bit of a spot, there, sugarplum... 'Cause... I know I told you I wouldn't hurt ya... bu-_t_... if you aint gonna tell me why you're here, which I'm guessing you're _not_... then I'll wanna see you again so I can, uh, figure it out."

"So." Her heart pounded in her chest.

"_So_, babes, the _Brothers Grim _out there arranged this little visit 'cause they thought it'd, uh... _scare_ some sense into you. And... if they see that you're not _scared_... then we won't be able to be friends anymore." He gave her a wide smile, "So _you've_ gotta be _scared_."

Rebecca slowly got to her feet. "And... and how are you gonna do _that_."

His smile, if it was even possible, widened, "Awww, _come_ on, Red. You know me, _riiight_?"

He pounced, and Rebecca felt her head connect painfully with the floor. He straddled her and she fought, viciously, "Get _OFF_ me!"

"That's right, cutie, let's get you _nice_..." she lashed out at him and he caught her wrist, easily, forcing it down against the floor, the motion bringing his face and body far too close to hers, "...and _scared_."

"Get the _fuck_ off me!"

His eyebrows rose, quickly, as if scandalised, "What foul language stains such a sweet tongue!" "Joker, _get the_ -"

A hand was forced over her mouth, hard, and then another one over her throat. She let out a muffled sound of panic and jerked her head from one side to the other, trying to throw him off of her. His chest pushed against hers as he leant down even further, and he forced his lips against hers in a crushing kiss, simultaneously tightening his grip around her neck.

She whined and struggled, fighting as hard as she could with him, but she could feel sharp, stabbing pain start to cut through her lungs, felt her struggles getting weaker. She reached out and dug her tattered fingernails as deep as she could into the Joker's skin, the side of his face. He gave a little growl and punished her with a quick squeeze of her windpipe, and she choked, immediately releasing him.

"That's a good girl," his lips moved across her face, relinquishing her gasping mouth, licking, biting, "Maybe we can be friends after all, hmmm?" he started to laugh again, and she squirmed and struggled more, still gasping for air, trying to get oxygen into her lungs.

She didn't hear the door open, but there were suddenly more hands on her throat, clawing at the ones stopping her air. One finally succeeded, and as the Joker's weight left her body she yanked in a sharp gasp of oxygen, reflexively pulling herself upright and retreating back into the corner, panting, her hand on her throat, eyes fixed on the scene in front of her.

* * *

Warrick was pinning a cackling Joker to the floor, Harrison and Sam holding his arms behind his back as he landed blow after blow into the man's stomach.

The Joker responded to each hit with an increase of laughter, apparently immune as the orderly gave punches that looked strong enough to break ribs, "Awww, don't - don't you guys know how to knock? We were right in the middle of something there!"

"Shut it, clown." The orderly snarled, forcing his fist in hard enough to wind him.

The Joker choked on his breath, doubling over, but still didn't stop laughing, "What's the problem? _Jealous_-uh? I mean, uh -" Another hit blocked out his sentence for a second, "- all, all I did was _touch_ her, pretty -" another. The Joker had to pause for a second as he spluttered up blood, "- pretty pro-_tec_-tive, _aren't_ ya?"

Rebecca recoiled as the man grabbed the blonde curls, smashing his head down into the hard linoleum. Her heart was pounding, and her breathing was uncontrollable. Warrick yanked out his nightstick and brought it down hard on his side.

_The ringleader drove a kick straight into the man's stomach, winding him, knocking down his attempt at standing in one simple move._

She flinched, and as the next blow landed horrifically in his ribs, causing a reflexive yelp to come from his mouth, smothered by the laughter, she shook her head, moving a little closer, "Stop it."

The orderlies took no notice, continuing their brutal attack on him, Warrick getting to his feet so he could slam a kick into his side, his nightstick into the back of his legs.

_His eyes were unfocussed, he was hazy, he didn't know what was happening, he never screamed, never yelled out, just lay there and took it, on occasion struggling to get to his feet before another blow knocked him back to the ground._

"Hey, Trenton," the Joker panted, forcing the words out around his laughter and the rapid flow of blows, "Y'know, I, I'm not usually into the masochistic thing, but, hell, I'd make an exception for _you_, babe!"

A booted foot slammed down on the clown's chest and Rebecca heard bones break.

"Stop it!" she repeated, louder, her voice becoming panicked, "Stop it, you're gonna _kill_ him! You're gonna _**kill**_ him!"

The Joker's laughter peaked as he doubled over, a foot slamming into his back, his kidneys, "Aww - aww, toots. Nice to hear you're still so - _oompfh_ -" a kick to the chest, how the hell was he still laughing? "- still so... _hooked_ on me, hey?" he cackled again, stopping for a few seconds to hack up blood.

_Blood spilled down the man's cheek, his face, his temple, his head had cracked like an egg from that last blow, his eyes were even more unfocussed, the light in them was fading._

Rebecca's anger and fear peaked, and she forced herself to her feet, "I said _STOP IT_!"

* * *

Her voice echoed around the small room. There was a long, awful silence. Rebecca's breath was caught painfully in her throat.

"Get that freak outta here." Warrick growled.

Sam and Harrison wrenched the Joker to his feet, who promptly started laughing again, "Oooh, _fu-reak_. Like I haven't heard _that_ one before. _**Frrreeak**_, I _love_ it!"

"Shut the _fuck_ up!" Sam swatted the man around the head, and, as they turned, Rebecca realised they must have put another pair of cuffs on while they were kicking the life out of him.

They managed to yank him out the door, but, before he would let them drag him away, he managed to pull back a little to catch Rebecca's eyes, "See, see y'round, sweet-thing!" he broke out into laughter again, and she could hear the two nurses' vicious cursing as they dragged him up the corridor.

Her eyes fell back onto Warrick, and she stumbled back a step at the look on his face.

The orderly narrowed his eyes, "And you... I'll see you later."

He moved out the door, slamming it shut with a crash of metal behind him.

Rebecca let out a long, slow breath and slid back down to the floor.

She didn't think she'd ever been so happy to see a locked door in her life.


	20. Chapter 20: Searching for Results

**Chapter 20: Searching for Results**

_Tuesday, December 15__th__._

A tray plonked down beside hers, "You know what bothers me?"

Claire didn't look up. She already knew who it was. "What?"

Andrea sat, playing with the spoon in her soup in a fashion that told her straight away that she wasn't going to so much as touch it, "This stuff that's going on. Everything that's happening... no-one's said a word about it. I can't get anything from _any_one, nowadays. Even the _patients_ are wary. I've had six burst into _tears_ on me this _week_."

"And that's unusual?"

"Well, not with Wesker, maybe, but it sure as hell is with the others. And, look at it all! The place is practically _silent_! There's been no _fights_, no _trouble_, it's, it's not _right_!"

"Well, Christmas is coming up. Maybe they're trying to get on Santa's list."

"I swear, Claire, it's like the whole hospital's been swapped with pod people."

She chuckled slightly at her friend's notion, "I wish."

"Even Doctor _Crane_! I mean, have _you_ seen him at all today?"

"Nope. Said he was going over something important in his office. Cancelled all his therapy sessions, said he couldn't be disturbed."

"What's _that_ about?"

"Dunno."

"_No_-one knows!" she gestured around her somewhat violently with her spoon, "This place is turning into a mad house! And _Rebecca_, well, don't even _start_ on _her_."

"Have you seen her today?"

"Nope. I tried to, but they wouldn't let me in. Said something about _recent inappropriate behaviour_. She's locked in, total now." Her animation died, slowly, and she quit playing with her lunch, instead leaning down, elbows on the table, head in her hands, her fingers feeling out the scar on her forehead in that way she did when she was thinking hard, "This... this is getting weird."

Rodriguez rolled her eyes, "_Tell_ me about it..."

"I mean, first Doctor Crane takes her off my patient list, which is kinda strange in _itself_, then the whole _Werner_ thing, going into remission... then she's straight down into intensive care, and, within a matter of _months_, she's going schizo and refusing to eat or take her medication! It doesn't make any _sense_!"

"I've never seen a patient deteriorate so quickly. Have you?"

"No, never. When she first came here she was scared of out her mind, sure, but she had... _control_. You know the first time I met her? After she legged it when Kieran and that lot were having it out with each other? I told her why you'd gone in, that you'd gone in to help, and she replied with 'I'm not a damned amnesiac.'"

Claire chuckled, "One hell of a gal, that one. Fiery as hell." Then the smile faded, "Well. She was."

Andrea looked at her for a second. Then she shook her head, "Surely they could find someone else to give her her meds. She's not exactly _comfortable_ around strangers, _especially_ not _men_, so how's she going to feel being pinned up against the wall by orderlies? And that _Warrick_..."

The doctor made a face, and she smiled, "Oh, so it's not just me, is it?"

"I don't trust him." She replied, bluntly.

"Me neither. There's something about him, I can't quite put my finger on it, but..."

"_I_ wouldn't stay alone in a cell with him. Why should a paranoid schizophrenic have to?"

"She wasn't alone," she argued, half-heartedly, "Sam and Harrison were there, too."

She made a face again, "Sam Colt and Harrison Stone? Otherwise known as Tweedledum and Tweedle-frickin'-idiot?" Claire laughed, but Andrea just shook her head, darkly, "Those prats would do anything Warrick said and you know it. I _don't __**trust**_ them with her. I just don't."

The nurse hesitated, "So... what are you going to do about it?"

She sighed, wearily, and shook her head, "I don't know. I don't think... I mean, just... all these coincidences... Doctor Crane's the only one that will see her. He insists on him being the only doctor allowed to treat her. _He_... is the only professional she ever sees."

"But that's... that's okay, right? That's happened before. He's got a _lot_ of patients that he takes on singularly."

"Mm. Yeah. I know."

Claire looked at her for a long time. "What are you saying, Andrea."

"I'm saying..." she hesitated, and then shook her head, "I'm saying I need to think." She got to her feet, leaving her food untouched, as Claire had predicted, "Thanks for checking her out for me, Claire, I owe you one."

"Andrea."

She glanced back over her shoulder, "Mm?"

"Just... be careful. Yeah?"

"I will. See ya."

"See ya."

* * *

Doctor Crane sat at his desk. He watched the video through for the seventeenth time, memorizing every detail. It almost made him laugh that Warrick and his idiot associates really thought they were being intelligent, rewiring the cameras like that. They had, of course, had plenty of practise. A faulty monitor here, a slight tilt of a camera lens there... they'd been getting away with their institutionalised abuse for years. Crane hadn't been particularly concerned until the head orderly had moved onto a very familiar target.

Rebecca Lauren Wells. He'd had cameras in her room monitoring her every move since the second she was carted off to 'intensive care'. The first move made by Warrick had been easily diverted by a well-timed page, after which, as usual, the girl had reacted far from predictably. Again, she hadn't screamed. She hadn't yelled, save the vicious profanity she had called after him in anger. No tears stained her face. In fact, the only physical sign that she'd given of her unwillingness was her continued struggles and her harsh, scattered breathing.

What on earth was _wrong_ with this girl?

When he first heard of what the three thickheaded orderlies had planned, he knew it would be risky to let it go ahead. But Crane had taken that risk in the knowledge that the dangerously charming sociopath might be able to draw more out of the girl than he would. It was more irritating than anything. Crane knew better than anyone he was a proud man. But sometimes pride had to be put on the shelf.

Especially for a puzzle like _this_.

Crane shook his head, and, for the eighteenth time, set the recording to play.

The blonde-haired man took hit after hit on his body, all the while laughing, _"Awww, don't - don't you guys know how to knock? We were right in the middle of something there!"_

"_Shut it, clown."_ A punch was thrown to the stomach, to the lungs, winding him momentarily.

"_What's the problem? __**Jealous**__-uh? I mean, uh - all, all I did was __**touch**__ her, pretty - pretty pro-__**tec**__-tive, __**aren't**__ ya?"_

The girl cringed back into the corner as Warrick slammed the Joker's head down onto the floor, and then yanked out his nightstick, starting with that.

Rebecca edged closer, _"Stop it."_

The blows continued, making Crane grimace slightly with distaste. That was going to come up in his next physical...

"_Hey, Trenton. Y'know, I, I'm not usually into the masochistic thing, but, hell, I'd make an exception for __**you**__, babe!"_

A foolish move, even for the Joker. It was blatant that he was just trying to provoke anger, but this particular orderly was easily manipulated. The next kick was so vicious he could hear the snap of his ribcage even through the microphone.

Apparently, so could Rebecca: _"Stop it! Stop it, you're gonna __**kill**__ him! You're gonna _**kill**_ him!"_

"_Aww - aww, toots. Nice to hear you're still so - __**oompfh**__ - still so... __**hooked**__ on me, hey?"_

"_I said __**STOP IT**__!"_

Crane stopped the tape. So. This was what his gamble had led to. Another infuriating puzzle.

He shook his head. He couldn't understand that girl sometimes. Half the time she seemed to correspond perfectly to several different psychological diagnoses, suppression leading to schizophrenia, the paranoia because of what she had gone through in the past, the anger due to certain suppressed emotions, maybe something to do with what her childhood was like. But the rest of the time... This was the man who had _attacked_ her, _twice_! The murderer who had given her barely veiled threats since the second he had entered the door!

"_What'll it take to put a __**smile**__ on that __**pretty**__ little face, hey?"_

How could she still care for him. Well, not... _care_ for him. Why was she still concerned with his well-being. Concerned with what those orderlies did to him. Concerned with whether they'd kill him.

Did she see him as the lesser of two evils? Warrick and the Joker? But why would she see him as less of a threat? He had attacked her twice. Warrick had only done that once, saving the moments before they had brought the clown in when he pressed her against the wall, and on neither occurrence had he gone so far as to choke her while he did it.

And Warrick, of course, was restrained to what he could get away with whilst keeping his license and his job. Warrick wouldn't mark her. He wouldn't hurt her so much that she would need immediate care. He wouldn't kill her. The Joker had no rules.

Would a paranoid schizophrenic realise that? Perhaps not. Maybe Wells would just base her feelings on what had _happened_, not what _could_ happen.

And, of course, the Joker hadn't actually gone _through_ with his threats. Crane knew well that the Joker's psyche didn't usually lead towards an act like rape. Of course, nothing was usual with the Joker, but his past motivations had been anything but sexual. He hadn't gone all the way. Neither had Warrick, but that was due to circumstances beyond his control, not because he chose not to. Maybe she felt more secure with the Joker. Maybe he was slowly worming his way into her life as easily as he had crept into Doctor Harleen Quinzel's.

Could she care for him? She was _afraid_ of him, that was obvious. But her _face_... her face when they were hitting him... something had hit her straight to the core. But it wasn't him.

No. Most likely was that it wasn't him that she was seeing. Not him being beaten to a pulp by three burly men right in front of her eyes, while she was powerless to stop them. Beaten half to death. And, if she wasn't seeing the Joker, there was only one other possibility.

His phone rang, shrilly. He gave a small sigh. Then he shook his head, and picked up, "Doctor Crane."

"Doctor, it's Price."

"Price. What do you have for me?"

"We've done it, doctor. We've found him. We've found Cortez."


	21. Chapter 21: Drugs in the Asylum

**Chapter 21: Drugs in the Asylum**

_Thursday, December 17__th__._

"You ready to talk to me, Miss Wells?"

Rebecca looked up, slowly. She didn't reply. Crane looked at her for a moment. She was weak, shaking slightly, her face a ghostly shade of grey, the grip around her knees very tight. He stayed still a moment, wondering on the pure affect fear could have on a person. Fleetingly, he wondered how far he could push the girl before she went into complete lockdown. But then he shook his head. That wasn't what she was here for. He jotted down a note on his pad and then moved over to her.

"Come on. Time for therapy. Up you get."

She didn't reply, but, when he took hold of her wrist and gave a small, gentle tug, she went without a fight. Crane felt something liquid and sticky on her skin and glanced down. She was bleeding. He frowned, and, despite her slight increase of grip, opened her hand, firmly. There were four crescent-moon shaped cuts along her palm, thin but deep, where she'd obviously dug in her fingernails so hard she'd broken the skin. He opened the other hand and saw the same malady. He sighed, shaking his head, "What have you done to yourself..."

"Doctor Crane?"

He glanced at her. Her voice was so quiet she may well have not spoken at _all_. "Yes, Miss Wells?"

She paused for a moment. "What's the collective name for a group of mice?"

He raised an eyebrow, moderately surprised that she was able to remember a question she had asked four days ago, but then just shook his head, starting to lead her out of her room, "A mischief."

A frown flittered over her face, and she looked at him, "You're making that up."

"No, seriously. A mischief or a cluster."

"A cluster of mice? Sounds like a really weird breakfast cereal..." she walked down the corridor without a fight, her head twitching round like a bird's, glancing at things in the empty corridor that he could only guess at, "D'you know what the word is for a group of caterpillars?"

"Can't say I do."

"An army. An army of caterpillars. And for crows it's a murder. A murder of crows..."

"Is that right." His voice was a little tight. He adjusted it, quickly, "You know a lot about animals, then?"

She shook her head, vaguely, "I know lots of random shit."

He raised an eyebrow. He wasn't unaccustomed to cursing during his therapy sessions, but Rebecca was the mildest patient he had ever known, save maybe Arnold Wesker. And her speech wasn't violent enough for it to be Eve speaking. This was probably some other voice showing through. He made a mental note to write that down when he had a chance.

She stopped in her place, abruptly, and paused for a second. Her eyes fluttered closed. "I think I need to take my Clozapine now, doctor."

He sighed, "Well, Miss Wells, that's what I'm here to talk to you about. Just through here, come on."

It irritated him slightly to have to follow this route. But her little friend was out of town, and wouldn't even be able to be _contacted_ until the coming Saturday. He'd have to try a different route for now.

Her eyes locked onto the door they were approaching, "This isn't where we usually go."

"No, it's not." He tapped the code into the keypad, not bothering to cover it. Rebecca was glancing around her again, quickly, like a dog, her attention span completely smashed.

He stepped back so she could take the first step, "Please."

Her black eyes caught onto his. She didn't move. He sighed again, and then walked in first, leading her in behind him, "Come on. In we go."

She turned, inhibited a little by his hand still firmly on her wrist, and propped the door open with a chair.

He didn't argue, letting her keep it open as far as it would go, moving over to his desk, "Have a seat."

She sat down promptly on the floor. He paused, looking at her, and then shook his head again, setting the tape recorder to record, "So. Rebecca. How are you feeling?"

"What's the date?"

He glanced up, "December seventeenth."

"And the time?"

"It's... ten past three. Why d'you ask?"

She shrugged, silently. There was a long pause as he looked at her, and then she pulled back a little, pushing her back against the wall, "I want to go home."

"Home? Your home was destroyed. Burned. Do you remember that?"

Silence.

"Rebecca?"

"I need to take my tablets now."

"Your tablets." He paused, looking at her, and then shook his head, "Well. Let me tell you a little something about your tablets."

* * *

"What do you mean _confidential_, I _work_ here."

"I only know what's written down here, Doctor Nowell, I'm sorry."

Andrea let out a low, frustrated sigh, kneading her forehead, "Look, could you just open the files for me. I just want to _check_ something, that's all."

The receptionist shook her head, then perfected her blonde hair, "Look, I'm sorry, but it's not possible. The file's been locked."

"By _who_."

"I can't tell that from here."

"Where _can_ you tell that from."

"I don't know. I don't think you _can_."

The doctor closed her eyes for a second, calming herself, "Ms Hoffman. Is there _any_ other way of finding out Wells' current condition?"

She shrugged, "You could try going _down_ there."

"I... I have. She was sleeping." Okay, a lie. She had _tried_ to go down to intensive care, but had been stopped by an orderly before she could so much enter the door. She had tried her usual - a sort of cross between sweet talk and pulling rank - but no dice. This was starting to get frustrating...

The woman shrugged again, "So I guess that means she's okay, right?"

"Ms Hoffman, I _really_ want to see her. I need to speak to her."

"Then talk with her doctor, that's all I can suggest."

"Her doctor is Jonathan Crane, and he's been busy for the last few days."

"That's not my problem."

At this Andrea leant further onto the desk, "Believe me, it can be." She held the woman there for a moment, and then shook her head, "When's her therapy. Can you find out _that_?"

The receptionist paused, as if trying to make some ridiculous point, and then tapped away at the keyboard with her stick-on nails, "One moment... here we go. She has daily sessions with Doctor Crane, saving when he is unavailable, and they are... well, about three o'clock."

"So, according to that, she should be in therapy right now."

"Yes. Unless Doctor Crane is unavailable."

"Have you been told to hold his calls?"

She gave a horrifically fake smile, "I'm sorry, I believe that's Doctor Crane business. I'm not allowed to discuss his location with staff."

Andrea had to fight the urge to launch herself at the woman. Instead, she gave an equally fake smile, and nodded, "Thank you for your help, Ms Hoffman."

"Any time, doctor."

She smiled again, and then turned her back. She cursed, silently, and shook her head, walking quickly back down the corridor. Right. Fine. If _they_ weren't going to give her any answers, and _Crane_ wasn't going to give her any answers, there was only one other person she could see.

This was going to be hell.

* * *

"Let me show you what you have been taking, Miss Wells." Crane motioned to her, towards his little chemistry set. Rebecca looked at him for a long moment, the surreal situation confusing her a little. Then she shook her head, and, cautiously, moved forwards.

Crane indicated a vial of white liquid, "This... is Clozapine in its liquid form. The medication you are currently taking. And this..." he took another vial, this one containing a much murkier liquid, "This is the toxin I have been using on you. Now. When you add them together, they create a chemical reaction. Like so."

He poured one vial into the other. The water fizzed and bubbled, mist coming off of it, and then cooled down to reveal a perfectly clear liquid. He passed the test-tube to her, "Try some." She just stared at him, and he shook his head, pressing the thing into her hand, firmly, "Did you hear me? Try some. Please. It's perfectly safe, I assure you. _Try_ some."

The last two words had been said much firmer. It was obvious she didn't have a choice. Rebecca paused, and then brought the glass to her lips, and took the smallest possible sip. Then she frowned up at him, "It's... _water_."

"Yes, yes it is. You see, Clozapine is an antipsychotic, and my toxin is... quite the _opposite_. So, when mixed together -"

"They cancel each other out." She completed, slowly.

"Exactly. And this is what you have been taking."

She paused, looking at the vial for a moment. Voices chattered, excitedly, and she tried to keep her mind in the present, "Water tablets."

"Yes. Of course, they had a placebo effect for the first day; you'd have noticed that, no doubt. But schizophrenia is not just a mental disease - placebos only work so far. Bit by bit your body started realising it wasn't getting what it needed. And your hallucinations started reoccurring."

Realisation of just what he had done came over her, and she frowned again, "You... you switched my medication to make me think I was relapsing."

"Oh, you _are_ relapsing. I just made it that little bit more obvious."

"But I _wouldn't_ be relapsing if I were taking my _medication_."

He gave that small smile again, "You're sure about that?"

She looked at him for a long time. The voices were so constant now she couldn't really tell what was real. When with the normal, run-of-the-mill orderlies, it was easier to just not speak, whatever she heard. But Crane didn't seem to care whether she answered to voices that didn't exist to him, questions he'd never asked, or when she frowned a little and stared at him, a sign that she wasn't quite sure whether he had said what she thought he had.

He could have said 'are you sure about that'. He could also have said 'yes' or 'no' or 'you tell me', but, of course, he could have just as easily have said nothing at all.

He seemed to get her hesitance. He shook his head, "The loss of your medication was supposed to send you into complete psychotic breakdown. But... it didn't. Have you been hearing more voices recently?"

"More every day. Too many. Can't even _name_ them all." She hesitated a second, and then shook her head, "They don't like that." There was a long pause, and then she shook her head again, "Psychotic breakdown?"

Psychotic breakdown.

_Psychotic breakdown_.

_**Psychotic breakdown**_**.**

He was speaking again. Or maybe he wasn't. Maybe all this was a hallucination anyway. To hell with it, like she could really care about what the monster was saying _any_way. She went back to watching the walls. They swayed, warped, fluctuated, bright sparks moving across her vision. It was almost hypnotising. She looked for shapes in the patterns. She could see a dog. And a crow.

"_Miss Wells_?"

She looked up at him, "What."

Crane sighed. "I want to try you on a new sort of medication."

"Okay."

**But you took away my medication.**

"But you took away my medication."

"Well now you can have some back." He pressed some tablets into her hand.

Rebecca looked at them, "What are they."

"_They_... are Lysergic Acid Diethylamide."

She frowned slightly, a memory peeking up from long ago, "Lysergic Acid Diethylamide... That's... that's _acid_. LSD."

He looked surprised, "Yes. Yes, it is, well done."

She just stared at him, "You're... you're offering me drugs." She shook her head and laughed. For some reason, she found the whole situation hilarious, "In a _hospital_. I'm a _schizophrenic_ in a _mental asylum_ and you're offering me a _hallucinogenic drug_."

He nodded, thoughtfully, "Yes. Except it wasn't an offer. Take it."

She looked at him, the amusement fading fast. "No."

"Take it."

"_No_."

He sighed. Then he turned his back, fiddling with a silver case, "Did you know that LSD is one of the few solid, tabularised drugs that can also be administered via a hypodermic needle?" he pulled out a long, thin injection, and Rebecca's muscles automatically tensed, "The effects are far more potent, too, and _quicker_, almost _immediate_, as it can be injected near to the heart, or in the Subclavian artery, where it can be pumped round the whole body in little over a _second_." He drew up some liquid, and then stopped, looking at her, "Miss Wells. This can hurt if it has to."

She just looked at him. Her eyes moved slowly from the needle in his hand to his blank face. She tried to push past the fog of her brain, past the fear that was always there. She tried to force herself to recognise a plausible threat.

But she couldn't.

Crane sighed again, "Very well." He turned his back for a moment, brushing some imaginary dust from his desk, "Would you do the honours?"

Had he said that? She couldn't tell. Who was he talking to? There was no-one else here. Was there?

But, despite that fact, someone answered: "It would be my pleasure."

Then he turned back to her, and Rebecca's difficulty in recognising a plausible threat immediately vanished.

The man in front of her grinned. "Hey, Becks. Long time no see."


	22. Chapter 22: Staying Focussed

**Chapter 22: Staying Focussed**

Rebecca looked at him for a second, "S-Scarecrow?"

He winked at her, "_Scarecrow's the name, fear's the game_, how ya doin', toots?"

"Where... where's Crane."

Scarecrow smiled, "Oh, locked away, nice and safe. Again. He really is quite gullible when it comes to 'letting me out'."

"But, you... you look different. As Scarecrow, you look... _physically __**different**_."

He smirked, curiously, "Are you _psychoanalysing_ me?"

She shook her head, "You shouldn't change. It's not possible. But... but your eyes... they're... they're darker."

"I like to think I'm the more attractive twin. What d'ya think?"

She shook her head, almost incredulously, "I definitely think you're the more _arrogant_. Though, considering Crane, I guess that's practically _impossible_."

"I suppose it is. Seeing as you seem to be so interested in my face, _Miss Wells_, we'll leave it uncovered, just for you, how about that, doll?"

**Doll?**

"_Doll_?"

He laughed. Then he shook his head, and moved a step towards her, "Now. You've been off your loony juice for a while. You're a bit distracted, right? But I need you to be focussed. Okay? Are you focussed, _Becks_?"

She nodded, quickly. She'd never been so focussed in her _life_.

_Stay away from me. Stay away stay away stay away stay __**away**__..._

Her eyes moved to the door, trying to reassure herself. He caught the motion, and smiled. He stopped moving towards her. And started moving towards the exit. "Why don't you like the door shut? Out of curiosity."

Her eyes fixed on him, her breathing coming short as he moved painfully slowly, "I... Because... if it's shut, I, I can't see whether it's... locked. When it's open, it's not locked. When it's shut, I... I can't tell."

"And you don't like doors being locked?"

"I like... I like to have a way out of every room. I like to know I can... I can..."

"Escape?"

She didn't answer. He was next to the door. "So. What would happen if I just..." he reached out a hand and, slowly, pulled back the chair she had placed so carefully.

Her eyes reflexively squeezed shut, "Oh God, don't. Please. Oh _God_, please don't."

He laughed, softly, and she heard the door creak as it slowly slid closed. At the noise of the latch clicking into place she had to fight hard to keep hysteria at bay. She was damned near hyperventilating, and she clenched her teeth, hard, shaking, trying to calm her breaths down.

She heard footsteps, and immediately opened her eyes.

He smiled at her, slowly, a predator's smile. Then he nodded, abruptly, "Now." He spun on his heel, retrieving the box from the table, "Got this..." he paused, and then took the hypodermic needle, twirling it in his fingers, casually, "And _this_..."

He paused for a second, and then turned to her. Her heart missed a beat at the sight, and then continued again, pounding in her chest.

Scarecrow smiled, "Now. Pay attention, sweetheart. Crane wants you to take these funky little drugs here so he can see how they mess with the head of a schizo nut-job like yourself. He let _me_ out so I could, ah... _convince_ you."

She shook her head, quickly, panic welling up inside of her, "I can't take a hallucinogenic, I have a hard enough time figuring out what's real _without_ them - I _can't_!"

"Now now, honey. Let's talk this over, shall we?" he took a step forwards and smirked as she took one back, "There's a _reason_ Johnny-boy thinks I can convince you when he can't, _isn't_ there? I don't have any _rules_... I don't have any _restrictions_... I am very much the _bad cop_." He took another step, and Rebecca started as she felt the back of her legs hit the chair behind her, "So. Are you gonna do as the good doctor says or... are we gonna make this _fun_."

Her eyes caught onto his. For a moment, they just looked at each other. Then Scarecrow smiled, "The fun way it is."

* * *

He was definitely stronger as Scarecrow, Rebecca knew that now. The grips on her hands were so tight so could almost feel the bruises forming as pain split through her.

She tried to yank back, "Don't _touch_ me! Get your hands off me, get _away_ from me, _don't touch me_!"

Scarecrow gave a savage grin, "Well I didn't think I'd have you begging _this_ easily, Becks. Seems you're sweeter on Crane than I ever realised..." he leaned closer, catching her eyes, "Unless of course it's _me_ you like."

"I wouldn't count on it." She managed through gritted teeth.

He laughed. Then he pulled the plastic cap off the needle with his teeth, spitting it onto the floor and priming the injection, carefully, pinning her back against the wall with one strong arm, "Now. Hold still for me, honey. This might hurt a tad..."

He was wrong. She didn't feel the needle as he pushed it into her chest, above her heart, into the Subclavian artery. Her whole attention was attached to what was in it, what would happen if she took it, how her days already were with the voices, the hallucinations, the lights, the colours, constant sound, never silent, just noise. He was pushing down the plunger.

For once she acted off her own back, and yanked ferociously away from him, pain sparking through her as the needle tore out of her flesh. She ducked down a little and kicked out, catching him by surprise, hitting him hard in the stomach, and he doubled over, dropping the injection. She glanced down at it and they both moved at the same time. Rebecca got there first, and she smashed her foot down on the injection, crushing it into pieces on the floor.

Scarecrow glanced at it, neutrally, "Oh, well that was a waste of good acid. Rebecca Lauren, you should be _ashamed_ of yourself!"

Her heart thrummed in her head. She was scared, _terrified_, triumphant, angry, all these emotions spinning round her head, she felt like she was going to be sick. The voices started up again, louder, _much_ louder, but she pulled on her new anger to block them out, bleach them away.

He seemed to see this new emotion, and smiled, wryly, "Now, how much do you think she took, Johnny-boy, about half a pill? Less? Okay. Can't hurt to give her _another_ then. Right, Becks?"

_Well, fuck._

He took out the tablets from his blazer pocket, fixing his entrancing eyes on hers, "You are going to take this, sweetheart, I'm just letting you decide _how_. Did you know that America is one of the few countries that have a law allowing the forced administration of a schizophrenic's medication? That's what this is, Becks - _medication_." He gave a grin, "Gotta do as your doctor says, right?"

"Fuck you." She replied, shaking slightly.

He raised an eyebrow, "Eve?"

"Nope. That one was all me."

His eyes glittered, "How interesting. The little mouse has grown a backbone."

"I've always had a backbone. It just took some freak like you to show me how to find it."

Scarecrow laughed again, enthusiastically, and then took a firm step forwards. She shivered, and a little bit of the anger inside her flickered. He smiled, "You got a backbone, Becksy. But you're still scared. And all it takes..." he brushed a hand across her face, and she tensed, "...is the right _touch_."

He grinned, and then forced her back into the corner she had managed to move from.

**Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee.**

_I lift up my eyes to the hills - where does my help come from? My help comes from the LORD, the Maker of heaven and earth._

Working carefully, smiling at her shudder at his touch, he used one hand to press in the dips of her jaw, squeezing so his fingers went between her teeth, forcing her mouth open. Quickly, he pushed the tablet into her mouth, deep down to near the back of her throat, forcing it shut again with his palm soon after. Then, giving her a small, falsely apologetic smile, he slipped his hand over her nose.

In a second she could not breathe, and, cursing herself for not seeing the way he was going and taking a deeper breath, she could feel her lungs start to burn within a few more. Scarecrow smiled at her suddenly far more active struggles, and slid his other hand down to her neck. He began to work his hand on her throat, repeatedly constricting the part where her mouth joined her larynx, playfully. She fought at his abstractedly gentle touch, jolting her head, trying to get him to relinquish his holds. She couldn't breathe. She bucked back against the wall, trying to worm away from him, and Scarecrow laughed.

_Get off, get off, get off, GET __**OFF**__!_ Her mind ran, frantically. She was starting to feel dizzy, the lack of oxygen getting to her already.

_You have to breathe!_ She told herself, _If you don't, you will __**die**__, d'you hear me? You __**have to breathe**__!_

* * *

The girl's eyes closed, and she swallowed. Scarecrow smiled, satisfied, as he felt the tiny tablet go down her throat. He kept his hand firm over her mouth for a moment, shooting her an amused raised eyebrow, toying with her. Her eyes fluttered open as he still didn't release her, and then widened, and she started struggling a little more. Futile.

He waited until her body started to shudder with lack of oxygen, and then he let go, and she immediately pulled in sharp gasps of air.

"Please." She managed through her harsh breaths, "Get off me. Don't touch me. Please."

She was choking on the air, despite the fact that her airway was now completely clear. Scarecrow let himself think that it was her fear that was making her body react this way, and grinned, "Why are you frightened? I'm not hurting you, am I?" he stroked her neck and felt a shot of undeniable pleasure radiate through his body at her reflexive cringe, "But you're not afraid of me hurting you, are you. You're afraid of something else. What are you afraid of. _Do_ tell me what it is, Doctor Crane and I would really like to know. Please?"

She shook her head, no longer hyperventilating, but her breathing still frantic, "Why the hell would I give a sadistic freak like you power over me."

He laughed at the ridiculous notion, and the sudden defiance. So cute, so vulnerable. Like an angry kitten.

_Who would have thought Rebecca Wells on LSD would be so much __**fun**__?_

"But I already _have_ power over you, sweetheart. I could kill you right here right now, isn't that power? Whether you live or die lies completely on my whim."

She shook her head, composing herself remarkably, "I don't think so."

He raised an eyebrow, "And why not?"

"Because... because if you killed me... Crane would kill _you_. Because... he wants to know what I fear... and if I die... he'll never find out. And neither will _you_."

Scarecrow stared at her. She was right. The good doctor was barking in his head, but he wasn't the only one who saw something in keeping this little treasure alive. He gave a small, lopsided smile, "Ah. You've found my weak spot. _Curiosity_." He put his hands either side of her head on the wall, leaning down so she had nowhere to escape to, "I need to know what you fear."

"Well seeing as that's probably the only piece of information keeping my _very_ little remaining sanity intact I'm hardly going to _part_ with it, _am_ I."

He smirked, "Oh, Becky. I think you are."

He pushed even closer. She was wearing a spaghetti-strap top today, and, despite her recent weight loss, it was interestingly tight in... certain areas. Either the nurses had picked her up the wrong size or she was a fan of dressing to impress.

Scarecrow decided to go with the latter: "Mmm... nice choice of top today, beautiful. Dressing up for therapy?"

"Go to hell." She growled, and then winced when he placed his hands on her waist. Her breathing had sped up again. He put on a little more pressure and savoured the slightest whimper escaping her throat. That sound... _damn_, there was nothing like it.

_I'm gonna enjoy this._

He played with a strand of her soft red hair, "Do you think I'm gonna go further with you? Like those nasty men did? Like those big, nasty, _strong_ men did?" his grip was tightening. He could tell it was beginning to cause pain. Her breathing stepped up another notch. He leant down to her, forcing her to meet his eyes, "How did they do it, hmm? How'd they do it. Did they push you back like this?" he abruptly smashed her back into the wall, hands moving down and forcing the top upwards so he was touching skin, slamming his lips onto hers, the noise of pain and fear this action brought making him feel slightly dizzy.

He jerked away, raising an eyebrow, "Or was it more _horizontal_." in one swift movement he yanked her away from the corner and threw her to the floor. She landed on her back, sharply, and he winced, mockingly. Lucky the floor here was carpeted. That bang to the head could have caused more damage than intended.

He just couldn't stop himself now.


	23. Chapter 23: Scream For Me

**Chapter 23: Scream For Me**

Scarecrow straddled her waist, pushing down her hands. The drugs were starting to have an effect. He could see it in her wide black eyes. She was scared. Her pupils were dilated. They fixed on him, wild like a horse, and she immediately fought with all she had. Truth be told, that was quite a lot. Good thing that he liked a fight.

Scarecrow laughed, "Oh, _Becky_ baby, no need to be like _that_!"

"Get _off_ of me, get _off_!"

He laughed again, shaking his head and then lowering his mouth to her bare neck, biting down, hard. Johnny-boy was screaming at him not to leave any bruises, but he easily ignored him, compromising by soothing the red marks with his tongue.

Rebecca whimpered, pushing at him, desperately, "Crane... get... get off... please... get off me..."

"Crane's not here now, Becks. You're stuck with the Scarecrow." He wondered what she was seeing. Her usually quite pale face was now chalk-white, her eyes flickering all over the place. So scared. He laughed, and then leant down to her, putting on a 'disapproving teacher' voice: "Now _this_ is why you shouldn't _take_, darling. Never heard of the phrase 'just say no'?"

His hands moved down to her jeans and she immediately reached out and slashed her fingernails hard across his face. He didn't react to the slight pain, instead grabbing both her wrists with one hand, pinning them down onto her chest, "Now _that_ was plain rude." His other hand returned to her pants, "Let's see if you can make up for it."

The denim was soft under his hands. "What happened to your black pair? Liked them better. D'you think you could wear them for me, next time?"

She visibly struggled to regain composure, "Gonna be difficult."

"And why's that?"

"'Cause I threw them in the trash days ago."

"Damn. Well. I guess these will have to do, won't they?" His lips returned to hers, biting, licking. She fought harder, panting, trying to yank out of his grip. She wasn't strong enough.

_Maybe you should have eaten after __**all**__, hey, Becks?_

Crane had retreated further into his own head, the spot he had vacated radiating distaste. Scarecrow gave a savage grin. Just the two of them, then.

Oh fuck. Oh God, he wanted her right now. He _really_ wanted her right now. But, again... something was bothering him. He let out a low growl as he realised what it was. _Again_. She was shouting at him, yelling at him, _pleading_ with him... but she wasn't screaming. She wouldn't scream.

He managed to control himself a little, forcefully suppressing the burning need to just tear into her and get it over and done with. He removed the hand from her pants' button, cupping her cheek and moving her thrashing head to his, "Scream." He whispered, firmly, "Scream for me." She just looked at him, her chest heaving with her panting breaths, looking for all the world like a deer caught in headlights. It was gorgeous. God, it was delicious, her fear, it was like a drug to him.

But he wanted something more. He let out a low, frustrated sigh, "_Please_ scream? I need to hear you. I need to hear it." He moved so close to her he could feel her heart beating through her chest, "_Scream_."

She squeezed her eyes shut, and didn't respond. He let go of her chin, slowly, "No. You're not afraid." He paused, looking at her for a second, and then snapped a little, "_Why don't you FEAR?_ What are you afraid of if it's not that. If it's not _this_."

She didn't reply. She had opened her eyes again, looking at him. She was scared. _Terrified_. But she didn't say a word.

He shook his head, eyes locked on hers, "I know you fear something. I know it's not this. But it's something. Something like this. I'm so close. But I just can't _find_ it."

"Have looked under the couch?" she managed, her shaking voice slightly muting her sarcasm.

He smirked, and moved a hand onto her throat, giving a quick squeeze, "Now _now_, sweetheart, I've told you _before_ not to provoke me. I think it'd be good if you _listened_ every once in a while, yeah?"

Her eyes closed again. He wasn't putting down enough pressure for it to be because of lack of oxygen. She was whispering under her breath. Maybe she was praying.

The thought sent a shot of something more savage than any emotion _Doctor Crane _had ever felt jolting through him. He gave her delicate throat another squeeze of warning, and then leaned down to press his lips against her collarbone, "You'll never get out of here, Rebecca. You know that, don't you. You'll die in here."

"No."

"You will. You're gonna die here."

"I won't. I'll get out."

He grinned, "Bet ya life?"

Her lips were moving again, silently. What was she saying? Was she counting again? Quoting psalms? Johnny-boy was very interested in religion and faith. And so was he. What had happened to this thing to tear her away.

He couldn't wait until Saturday.

Scarecrow moved his hand down, slowly, stroking along the ridge of bone underneath her throat. The smallest spark of relief flashed through her eyes as he moved away from her throat, and he smirked. She thought he'd finished his punishment. Oh, how wrong a girl could be.

He shifted on top of her, tightening his grip on her wrists firmly as she tried to use the moment to squirm free. His other hand moved down to her top, and started rolling it up.

Then, suddenly, the girl forced out her hands, putting all her strength into the move, catching him hard in the chest. He was thrown to the right, but he still had hold of her wrists, so she was yanked back on top of him, falling onto him as he landed heavily on his back.

Scarecrow recovered from the sudden blow quickly, and smirked at their reversal in positions, raising an eyebrow, "Well, darling, if you _insist_..."

Rebecca stayed on top of him for a second, surprised by her sudden advantage, and then quickly scrambled to her feet, almost stumbling, almost falling, spinning round on her heel. She ran, over to the door, and grabbed the handle, yanking it down. Scarecrow stayed exactly where he was, crossing his arms casually under his head, and smiled as he felt the horrified realisation move over her.

It was locked.

* * *

Oh fuck. Oh shit. Oh fuck.

Rebecca yanked again on the door handle, knowing it was useless. Tears were forming in her eyes, and, no matter how many breaths she took in, she didn't seem to be getting any air.

Oh God. Oh God, no. _No_.

She turned, moving rapidly over to the desk. She stumbled, fell down to her knees, grabbing hold of the table, the only thing keeping her up. She slid down to the floor, trying to control her breathing. She couldn't look back at him. She just couldn't make herself do it.

"That special medication heightens the mood that you're already in, sweetheart. How were you feeling when you took those tablets, hey?"

She shook her head. The walls around her spun, warped, changed shape. She was tripping. She let out a small, hysterical laugh. Oh God, was she tripping. The Scarecrow's voice sounded deeper, darker, like when you slow down an audiotape, and it sounded like his, oh God, it sounded like his. She put her hand in front of her face and then had to squeeze her eyes shut to stop herself from being physically sick. The adrenaline was pumping around her system, and her heart was hammering away a hundred miles an hour. God, she was going to be sick.

"Oh God." She could barely tell if the words had left her lips, "Genesis. Exodus. Leviticus... Numbers... Numbers..."

She could hear him get to his feet behind her, "What we playing? Sounds fun."

_Oh God, don't let him touch me. I won't be able to take it. Please. Oh God, please._

She pushed her forehead further into the cold wood of the desk, "Oh God, _Deuteronomy_... Joshua, Judges, Ruth... Kings, Paralipomenon, Esdras... Esdras..." she faltered, shaking her head, trying to get back on track.

"Tobias, Judith, Esther, One Machabees, Two Machabees -"

"Job, Psalms, Proverbs, Ecclesiastes, Canticle of Canticles, Wisdom... Ecclesiasticus, Isaias... Jeremias, Lamentations... Baruch, Ezechiel, Daniel..." she hesitated, losing momentum, "Amos - _no_... Osee... no..." she hesitated again, and then shook her head, "Oh God, I can never remember the twelve!"

Jane came to her aid: _A Christmas Carol._

She immediately took up the lead, "Great Expectations. Oliver Twist. The Mystery of Edwin Drood, Nicholas Nickleby, David Copperfield, Bleak House... The... The..."

"You know you can't hold up forever." The voice was a low purr. Lulling. "Come on. Give into it. _Face_ your fear."

She shook her head again, firmly, but she knew she was running out of steam: "The Old Curiosity Shop... The Pickwick Papers... No Thoroughfare... I..."

"It's a fun little game, honey. But a strong psych only goes so far."

_Oh God, no. Please. No. Oh God, please no. Stop. Stop._

A hand fell on her shoulder.

* * *

With a scream of raw emotion, Rebecca span round and smashed the only thing her hands could reach into the side of his head.

Scarecrow fell to the ground with a grunt and in a second she was on him, fumbling with his pockets, hearing the clink of keys, grabbing at them, stumbling to her feet, voices screaming in her head, pure panic seizing her, spinning on her heel, scrambling with the lock, finally managing to force the thing in.

"Rebecca -"

She didn't let him finish. She yanked the door open, and tore out of the room as fast as she could.

* * *

Scarecrow stayed where he was for a moment, sitting on the floor. The girl had caught him hard with the old-fashioned, metal tape recorder, hard enough to completely split his lip. Blood trickled down from his mouth, but he didn't bother wiping it away. He was still uncomfortably aroused from when his little plaything started quoting her books again, but it seemed he had underestimated her.

He shifted his weight on the floor, aware of another presence settling back into his mind.

_Well. __**That**__ was... a __**catastrophe**__..._

"Oh, you think so?"

_**I**__ could have got better than that._

He gave the slightest hint of a lopsided smile, "And you're sure about that, are you, Johnny-boy?"

_What makes __**you**__ so sure you were a __**success**__?_

Scarecrow paused, and then, slowly, licked away a line of blood, taking his bottom lip in between his teeth to squeeze out more, relishing the sharp, coppery taste. "She screamed."


	24. Chapter 24: Lamentations

**Chapter 24: Lamentations**

When Rebecca heard the car coming up behind her, she rolled her eyes. It had sounded big, or maybe just old and nearing the end, heading towards the pearly white gates, so to speak. She kept walking, adjusting her scarf a little as she did. It was still snowing, not as heavily as it had been this morning, but enough for her to really consider giving up on her traditional evening walk. Guilt had won over though, eventually, and she had begrudgingly pulled on her long snow boots, her thick white coat, and her matching scarf, gloves and hat. The wind still had a bite, though.

She didn't want to have to walk in the gutter. The snowploughs had swiped all the snow off the road and onto the sides, so she would be walking probably in about two feet of the stuff. Not that she didn't love snow, but she was heading home, and was quite cold and tired.

She could still hear the car/van/bus, moving slowly. Rebecca sighed, and reluctantly starting veering towards the left.

The driver, however, seemed to give her an extraordinarily polite amount of space. She listened as it moved far to the right, even with the sharp bend they were nearing, and then slowly crawled to a halt beside her. She frowned, and glanced at it. It was a ratty old van, dark blue with far newer New Jersey plates.

She moved her eyes back to the road, but the driver's window whirred down, slowly.

Music that made her wince a little played through the speakers, followed by a low voice: "S'cuse me, ma'am, d'you happen to know the way to Southern Lehigh High school?"

She glanced back again, and the driver winced, apologetically, probably seeing that she was a lot younger than he had thought, "Sorry - _Miss_."

She gave a small smile. The man was probably about twenty-five to thirty, with tanned skin, despite the harsh winter they were going through. He had brown hair just long enough to brush across his neck and sparkling emerald eyes. _Very_ green eyes. His clothes were casual, first-thing-in-the-morning sort of fashion, a red, yellow and white striped shirt over a grey long-sleeved top, rolled up to his elbows - apparently he didn't feel the cold. The collar was stuck up, carelessly, mussing his hair a little.

His hands were still on the steering wheel, and he didn't seem awkward at all at stopping by an eighteen year old girl to ask for directions. There was something to be said for that, at least.

She smiled again, moving a little closer, "Southern Lehigh? Yeah, sure I do. Main Street, right?" she pointed down Jacoby road, the way he had been going, "Okay, so you just keep going on 'til you get to the three-oh-nine, then take it north for about a mile, you'll end up on Main, and then it's on your right. You got that?"

He nodded, motioning up ahead of him, "So that's... up here... keeping going 'til I get to the three-oh-three -"

"Nine," she corrected, quickly, "Three-oh-_nine_, you most _definitely_ don't want the three-oh-three, I think the three-oh-three's out in _Connecticut_ or something..."

He nodded again, hesitantly, "Uh, okay... where's Connecticut?"

Rebecca raised an eyebrow, smiling, "Not a local boy, are you?"

He shook his head, "Nope. I'm from York."

"York just west of Lancaster?"

"Nope. York northeast of _Leeds_, West Yorkshire."

She frowned for a second. Her geography was good. "West Yorkshire, you're... you're _English_?"

He looked surprised, "I don't sound it?"

"Not really, actually."

"Maybe I picked up a little. Been here 'bout... thirteen months now."

She gave a low whistle, "Wow. Long time away from home."

"Won't be for long. We're movin' here, me and the family."

"You're married?" she couldn't help but maybe feel a little disappointed. She supposed it was normal to feel this way. After all, he was an attractive man, and she was only human, even if she wouldn't ever have done anything about it.

But the driver shook his head, smiling, "No, I meant my _real_ family. Me, mum, dad, my little bro. He's the reason I'm off to Lehigh, I'm tryna secure him a High School place."

"Yeah? How old is he?"

"Eleven."

"Ouch."

"Tell me about it."

Rebecca laughed, and he smiled at her, "You got siblings, then?"

"No, just me and my dad, but I do childminding. I've got experience."

The man laughed, "You used to eleven-year-olds then?"

"Well, yeah, of course... you do get _some_..." she trailed off, glancing at the CD player, the music finally turning vile enough to become distracting, "_What_ are you _listening_ to?"

He gave a sheepish grin, "I think... Disturbed?"

"Disturbed?" she rolled her eyes, "Never has there been so apt a title..."

"You don't like it?"

"I don't like fried eggs. I _don__'__t __like_ Mondays. _This_ is something _else_."

"Hate?"

"I didn't say hate." She corrected, firmly, "I don't hate."

"What was that song... 'Hate is a strong word, but I really really really don't like you'..."

She nodded, "Plain White T's. Now _that__'__s_ music."

Again he gave that slightly embarrassed smile, "Only know it because it was on constantly where I worked. So where you off to on New Year's Eve, anyways?"

"Oh, I... I'm just off home."

He nodded down the road, "That's this way? How 'bout I give you a ride?"

She shook her head, politely, "No, thank you, my house is..." she pointed west, over past Memorial Park, towards her house, "..._there_. I can _see_ it."

"You can see the _sun_, but that don't mean you should walk to it." She gave a small smile, and he smiled back, "So whatcha say? I'm goin' past anyways."

She hesitated, "It won't take me twenty minutes."

"It won't take us _five_ in a _van_." She still looked doubtful, and he nodded, "Okay. I'll even change stations for you." He flicked off the awful metal channel and onto something playing the current Christmas number one - Alexandra Burke's X-Factor version of 'Hallelujah'. He winced, theatrically, and looked at her, playing the world-weary husband, "See the things I do for you?"

She laughed, and then shook her head, "Well, c'mon, it's gotta be better than whatever racket you _were_ listening to."

"Yeah, I don't think I'll agree with you on that one, I'm afraid. So what d'ya say."

"Look, it's really kind of you..."

"Look, it's snowing, c'mon, it's freezing cold out here. Dunno how you _cope_."

She shook her head, "I don't feel the cold."

"Which makes it all the worse, you'll be getting sick without noticing it!" she opened her mouth to speak, but he shook his head, "Look. Come on. Hop in. We'll go together. Then you can help me out if I get lost. 'Cause, come on, it's gunna happen."

She paused, feeling a wry grin slowly spread over her lips. Then she shook her head, "Oh, okay. Alright, then."

She moved round to the other side of the van, and the driver leant over to open the passenger-side door for her, "Phew. You sure drive a hard bargain, Miss."

She smiled again, climbing into the empty seat, carefully, "Of course I do."

"_Of __course __I __do_." He mimicked, and she laughed. He had a habit of lowering his head slightly and looking up at her with his green eyes as a smile moved over his lips, a habit that made a flutter run through her stomach. She liked him. He seemed like a good man. He was pretty, funny, clever, and _polite_, to _boot_...

_What __a __catch __this __guy __would __make,_ she thought, almost wistfully, _He__'__s __gonna __make __some __girl __happy, __no __doubt..._

"So," he said, shooting her that smile again, "Down this way, right?"

* * *

The driver was right that it would take them close to no time in a van. The time seemed to fly past as they chatted about where he came from, why he was moving, what his job entailed. Turned out his 'mum' was a childminder too, but with younger kids, one to four year-olds. He worked in banking, something he had dismissed with the words 'high pay, high hours, high boredom', and was being transferred to 'the States' because the branch he was working in went bust with the steadily building recession. Though he said technically it wasn't a recession yet, seeing as NBER hadn't made it official. His brother was an adorable sweetheart half the time and a vengeful monster the rest. He liked sports.

When they pulled up outside her house, they were having a light-hearted fight about whether footballers and soccer players deserved their ridiculously high wages. Rebecca thought no, he thought yes. She said that was only because he loved watching the sports, and he retorted with the exact opposite accusation.

She shook her head, raising her hands, "I'm not getting into this argument with you! That's it, I'm done! I'm going, bye now!"

The driver laughed, and shook his head, "Can't win an argument." He teased.

"No, just don't want to _continue_ an argument. Now I'm outta here, where's the handle." She found it after some fumbling and then pulled it on a few times. The door didn't open.

He sighed, "Oh, sorry, I forgot. Child lock, mum always leaves it on..." He turned off the power and clicked off his seatbelt, getting out of the car, "Let me just get that for you."

She waited patiently for him to unlock her door, and shot him a look as he stood back, politely, waiting for to get out before shutting it for her. She moved automatically towards her house, glancing at him, "Do you know how much it costs to build a well in Saudi Arabia?"

"Oh, woman, Oxfam gets more funding than damned J K, you can't guilt-trip me into not watching the footy."

She took out her keys and pushed them into the lock, undoing it while talking over her shoulder: "You know, Rooney isn't even that good."

"Ooh, you watch your tongue, missy, before you start to see my bad side."

She laughed, "_Bad_ side?"

"Well. Slightly less nice side."

She laughed again, shaking her head. Then she finally noticed that he was waiting beside her as she pulled open her door, and glanced at him, smiling, curiously, "Is it polite in England to walk people to their doors?"

He seemed to think about it: "Yeah. Yeah, I guess it is."

"In America it's kinda stalker-ish." He seemed confused, and she smiled, "Getting to know my address?"

He shook his head, "Of course not, I already _knew_ your address."

She frowned a little, "Beg your pardon?"

"Well, I did drive here, didn't I?"

She looked at him, hesitantly. Where in the car for the whole journey she had been completely relaxed, for the first time a spark of unease squirmed inside her.

He leant against the doorframe, casually, fixing his emerald eyes on hers, "So. How about I come in for a minute?"

She hesitated. Her uncertainty built. He wasn't smiling now. Just staring at her. She glanced at his hand. The way he was standing prevented the door from being closed without breaking his fingers. "I... don't think my dad will appreciate that, actually." She said, slowly.

He nodded, thoughtfully, "Well," he said, easily, "That's actually what I'm here to talk about."

She stared at him for a second. Her heart was beginning to flutter. This didn't sound good. "What do you mean. What are you _talking_ about?"

He raised an eyebrow, "All good things to those who wait, Rebecca."

She looked at him for a long time. "I don't remember telling you my name." She said, quietly.

The man gave her a small smile, "Oh, you didn't. _He_ did."

He nodded to his right, back at the van, and her eyes quickly locked onto the men clambering out of the now open trunk door, coming quickly up the street, moving towards them.

Rebecca took a sharp, automatic step back, but the driver grabbed her wrist, pulling her back towards him a little, moving so he was now completely in the way of the door, putting his foot against it so it couldn't close, "Okay, easy, easy there, angel."

She tried to yank back, staring at him with eyes full of panic, confusion, and something close to indignation, "What are you doing, let _go_ of me! _Let __me __**go**_!"

He moved forwards, quickly, bundling her into the house, and the other men were following him, more than two, _four_, at _least_. He pushed her back into her front room and pushed her against the couch until she sat. She heard the door close and the hatch go across, locking it, and she turned her wide eyes on the sound. The men were moving into the house quickly, efficiently, all wearing dark clothes, two nattering on at each other in what sounded like Italian.

Rebecca's heart throbbed in her chest, painfully, and she turned her eyes back on the driver, "Who are you."

He turned to her and smiled, "Cortez."

* * *

Rebecca jerked upright, cursing violently when her head smashed back against the hard wall. She hesitated for a moment, looking confused around the dark room. Then she let go a long, slow breath, and closed her eyes, leaning her head gently back against the wall. Thank God. It was over. Thank God. Thank God it had ended there.

She had a lot of dreams. A lot of nightmares. Of that night. Most of which, mercifully, she couldn't remember. But the worst were the nightmares that weren't nightmares. The worst were the ones where he was there. The ones where he kissed her, gently, soothingly. The ones where she kissed him back.

Then she'd wake up, and the mere _memory_ of his lips on hers would make her hurl. But, while she was asleep... her subconscious tortured her, ruthlessly. The night that ruined her life. The night that burdened her with this... _stupid __fucking __illness_. The night that led her here. Led her to Arkham.

Her eyes flickered oven, and moved onto the door, quickly. The bed was still braced across it, completely blocking the entrance. It was silent outside. Apparently the orderlies had given up trying to break it down - for now, at least. She didn't know how long it had been since she'd fled here. More than a day, probably. She was sat down on the floor, having stripped her bed of the sheets and duvet and made herself a sort of nest in the corner of the room. Her refuge.

It would have been funny, if it was the sort of thing you could laugh about. She spent all that time in Trenton just wishing that Nurse Always-Fucking-Chipper left the door unguarded for just a few minutes. Now in Arkham she was voluntarily retreating back to the very room they locked her in, and doing all she could to make sure it remained shut.

The knocking started again. Bang bang bang. Bang bang bang. Was it real? Maybe. Could be the orderlies were back, giving breaking down the blocked door one last valiant effort. More probably it was the voices, mixed with the lingering acid in her blood.

God, she hated him. Hate wasn't even strong enough a word for what she felt for him. She'd never been one for hate, but that man...

Maybe it was Eve. Maybe she was worse an influence on her than she had realised. But right now... she'd kill him. She'd kill him gladly. _More_ than that. For the first time in her life, she didn't just wish she had _killed_. She wanted Crane's death to be as slow and painful as the fire burning in her heart. She wanted him to suffer.

"_How did you feel when this was about to happen? When your head was trying to convince you to kill her?"_

"_I was damned **terrified**. I don't kill people, Doctor Crane, even when I go through the worst stages of psychosis, I've never killed anyone. Cuts and bruises and one dislocated shoulder is the worst anyone's got out of me, and that was because they were stupid enough to lock the door. I **don****'****t** **kill** people."_

"_Why is the distinction so important to you?"_

"_Because I have to keep control. Because it's the difference between a psychiatric hospital and a psychiatric asylum. It's the difference between nut-job and insane. It's the difference between insane and dangerous. I don't want to hurt people, Doctor Crane."_

Rebecca heard her own words echo around the room, spoken in another's voice. Oh God, what had she been _thinking_? What was she _becoming_?

Tears slipped down her cheeks, and she tucked her head back into her knees. She could tell that this was going to be another difficult night.


	25. Chapter 25: Meeting with a Clown

**Chapter 25: Meeting with a Clown**

_Friday, December 18__th__._

Doctor Nowell perfected the hem of her skirt for what must have been the sixth time in half as many minutes. She had decided not to dress up or down for this particular day, forcing herself to wear her usual work clothes and be comfortable in them. But, despite having worn these clothes for over two years, she couldn't help but fiddle with them. Her white shirt seemed too tight, the grey skirt too short. Strands of her brown hair fell down over her eyes, and just refused point-blank to be tamed back into their usual clip. She knew if she toyed any more with her tights they would ladder, and then her obsessive streak would make her go and put on another pair.

Andrea shook her head, wearily. Since when had she become a nervous, obsessive wreck? She was a _shrink_, for God's sake. Falling apart at the thought of a run-of-the-mill session? If her psych lecturer were here he'd have a fit.

Of course, this wasn't just any other patient.

_You need to do this,_ she told herself, firmly, _You need to do this. For __**Rebecca**__._

Oh God, if she could just get through this session. Thirty minutes. Whatever the outcome, if she could just get through this thirty minutes, it'd be a _miracle_.

Tracy had been remarkable about the whole thing. She had shown up all pale skin and tired eyes. She looked exhausted. They had been friends for a long time, long enough for her to have been concerned at the younger doctor's fatigue. She said she was fine, just worn down. Burning the candle at both ends, all that crap that people say when it's obvious they're absolutely exhausted. Maybe she was getting a heavier patient load now all those staff were taking more time off for the Christmas holidays, or whatever reason they'd cooked up...

"Doctor Nowell?"

She actually started, her cheekbones promptly flushing slightly with embarrassment. She pulled herself together quickly, however, her composure sliding easily back into place, "Yes?"

The guard jerked his head at the door, stiffly, "He's ready."

She nodded, and got to her feet, shakily. She rubbed her hands across her skirt one more time before firmly stopping herself. God, this felt like high school, sitting outside the principal's office. Never mind that she was a competent, intelligent psychologist who was hardly young _or_ naïve - she felt like a teenager who'd just been caught sneaking out of her parents' house to see a movie with a guy that was _far_ from appropriate marriage material.

_Hell. Like __**marriage**__ ever says anything..._

The young guard was preoccupied. He looked twitchy. His whole demeanour was stiff. She supposed any long period of exposure to this particular patient was bound to do that to someone. She drew in a long, slow breath as they moved through the hospital door. Her heels clicked unbearably loudly along the white tiled floor. She thought about that conversation she had had with Rebecca, about how she used to count the ceiling tiles. It had been a long time since she had frequented that particular vent. But she found herself doing it now.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five.

All the beds were empty except one, right at the far side of the room. Well, it would be, wouldn't it. They'd hardly put him near the door.

Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten.

Her brown eyes moved over the scene in front of her, calculatingly, automatically. She felt a small hint of relief at the sight of the chair next to the occupied hospital bed. With the damage that had been done to her kidneys many years ago, it was hard to remain standing for any substantial amount of time, but thankfully the orderlies had had the courtesy to allow her to sit with her temporary patient.

Eleven. Twelve. Thirteen. Fourteen. Fifteen. Sixteen...

Andrea slowed to a halt. Her eyes locked onto him. Curly, dark blonde hair. Average build, maybe a little on the short side, it was hard to tell with him lying down. His eyes were closed with his head back against the hospital bed he was chained to, tilted slightly to one side. Bruises covered his body, and there were four long scratches down his left cheek. Fingernail marks. They looked enflamed, possibly infected, definitely painful. But, aside from the injuries...

He looked so... _normal_.

As if to remind herself of what he was, Andrea felt her eyes moved down his face, tracing over the infamous scars stretching up his cheeks. She caught herself at it, and shook her head, firmly. She took another step forwards.

The Joker's eyes shot open.

* * *

Andrea almost stepped back. She felt like her heart had dropped into her stomach, but her face remained expressionless, "Good morning."

He paused, considering her for a moment, narrowing his eyes slightly as he looked her over, carefully, "Good _morn_ing..." his eyes felt like scourers scraping over her, but she kept hers on his face, refusing to show any sign of fear. When he had finally finished, his eyes returned to hers, and he cocked his head slightly to one side, curiously, "_You're_ not Teri."

A frown flittered over her features before she could stop it, "Teri?"

"Doctor _Wei_-gel... my shrink."

A creepy feeling flickered through her stomach at the way he had said 'my', but she firmly suppressed it. She moved forwards, all business, settling down easily into the seat at the Joker's bedside, placing her file down on a counter alongside her, "No, no I'm not Doctor Weigel. My name is Doctor Nowell."

He cocked his head to one side, like a dog, "First name? Or are you only a _title_?"

"Does it matter?"

He raised an eyebrow, "Ooh, _that_ was rude." He straightened up a little, making an odd motion with his hands as if he was trying to fold his arms, regardless of the restraints tying him firmly back down to the bed, "I don't like rude people, doc. Ask your, uh, little _friend_ in surgery."

Luckily, Andrea had done her research, and knew exactly who he was talking about, "Sam Colt was not my friend."

"Was?"

She caught her mistake. "Is."

He gave a small scowl and muttered something she didn't quite catch under his breath. Then he suddenly brightened a little, "If you won't _tell_ me your name, then I'll just have to, uh, think one _up_ for you. Like I did for _Teri_. Are you two _friends_-uh?"

_Who the hell is 'Teri'? _"We're colleagues."

"That's not what I asked."

She looked at him long and hard. Did he treat _all_ his doctors like disobedient children or was this little show just for her... "Yes. Yes, we're friends." She paused for a moment, glancing down at the notepad on the desk, jotting down a few brief notes she'd give to Tracy later, "Can I ask why you call her Teri?"

He raised an eyebrow, "Her _name_ is Doctor _T Weigel_." He said, looking at her as is she was totally missing the point.

"And?"

He giggled at her obvious confusion, "I'm assuming you don't know Miss _Te_ri Weigel, then. The two share a lot in common."

Teri Weigel? Now why did that name sound - Ah. T Weigel. Teresa Weigel. Andrea winced internally. Being compared with an 80's playboy star... no wonder poor Tracy seemed stressed. He probably hadn't made it subtle, either...

"Cut it out, Joker." The young guard who had brought her in snarled, taking a step towards him, warningly.

The Joker continued laughing, shaking his head, "Ooh, I was just making con-ver-_sa_-tion, Ernie. What's up with _you_, you got the hots for little Teri _tooo_?"

Andrea almost closed her eyes in exasperation, but managed to prevent herself. If the conversation was going to go this way, she better stop it now.

"You know, my _fav-ou-rite_ film of hers has _got_ to be -"

"How many different doctors do you see?"

His amusement was cut short as if with a blade, and he looked at her, narrowing his eyes slightly, "It's rude to interrupt, Doctor Nowell."

She looked at him for a second, "Your doctors, Joker?" she repeated, mildly.

He paused for some time before replying, as if letting her know he was doing it of his own free will. He rocked back on the bed a little, greatly impeded by the thick leather straps, "_Three_-uh. It _was_ four. But, uh," he paused to giggle again, shaking his head, quickly, "Uh, _Doctor Cartwell_ had a, a little bit of a _nervous breakdown_."

Nice... "But Tra-... But Doctor Weigel is your main therapist."

He sobered instantly, raising his eyebrows, "You _are_ friends. Friends enough to find it hard to call her by her last _name_."

Goddamnit, he heard that. "It's difficult for me, yes. I haven't worked with Doctor Weigel before, I've never had to call her by her last name."

"Hmmm..." he watched her for a moment. Then, suddenly, he nodded, resolutely, "So. Are you the one with the S-and-M fetish then?"

Firstly just moderately rattled, this one completely threw her. "E... Excuse me?"

"S-and-M. It stands for Sadism and Masochism."

"I... I know what it stands for." Mother of God, did he _always_ talk like this?

He smiled, pleasantly, "Well then, are you or aren't you?"

The orderly once again stepped in: "Shut the hell up, Joker."

"It's a simple _que_stion, _yes_ or _no_."

Andrea was staring. She wrenched her eyes away, quickly, counting the floor tiles, reminding herself that she had been through worse, reminding herself of medschool, of her first few weeks, her time with 'Caden', her time with Lynns. "Why do you ask that?"

"Well, the straps. I mean, don't get me wrong, the straightjacket's kinky as hell, but I find the straps just a little bit more... _motivating_."

Was she going red? It felt like it. God, she hoped she wasn't... "To be honest, Joker, I don't think that's what your restraints are there for."

He managed to catch her eyes, probably yanking his back out in the process, and winked, "Sure about that?"

_Competent, intelligent psychologist, neither young nor naïve. Competent, intelligent psychologist, neither young nor naïve..._

"Yes. Now. If we could get back on topic...?"

He gave a long, mocking sigh, "If we mus_t_. If you're not here to participate in a little _fun_, what _are_ you here for."

"I need to talk to someone about... a rather discrete matter." She stopped in her place, giving a small, dry smile, realising the irony, "Which, of course, is why I came to you."

He nodded, seriously, "Of course. I'm just _known_ for my discrete nature, Doc."

Andrea looked at him for a second. Then she shook her head, "Just give me ten minutes of your time to talk."

"I dunno..." he said, easily, "My _sche-_dule's kinda full..." he yanked round again, turning to the young guard, "Whatd'ya think, Ernie, we got time for a little _cha_-t?"

"I'm not gonna tell you again, clown." The boy growled, his hands clenched tightly into fists by his sides.

Andrea looked him over, catching the warning signs, and immediately got to her feet, putting a light hand on his arm, "You know, uh... um..." she hesitated, looking at him, frowning slightly, "It's... _not_ Ernie, is it."

"Eddie." He replied, stiffly.

"Eddie. Would you mind just... stepping outside for a moment. I think I'll do better on my own."

He looked at her, "Doc. He aint been left alone with a woman since he got here."

Well. _That_ wasn't true. But, hell, it paid to stay polite: "Yes. I, well, I understand that. If you would please...?"

Joker grinned, "Don't you worry, Ern, I'll take _care_ of her for ya."

"I _said_ -"

"Please." She interrupted, quickly, firmly, "Eddie. I'm a big girl now. I can take care of myself."

The guard looked at her for a long time.

She turned him, hand on his shoulder, walking him back towards the door, "Come on. Just stay right out here. I'll need to close the door, okay? No no no, I need that closed. I'll be right out, thanks."

Andrea paused, and then shut the door softly behind him.


	26. Chapter 26: Lasting Scars

**Chapter 26: Lasting Scars**

Andrea paused for a moment, hands on the wood, and then turned back, settling back down in her chair, "That's better."

The Joker smirked, "_Much_."

She looked at him. There was complete silence for a moment, and she took his chart, flicking through it for a moment, giving the many injuries he had sustained a quick glance over. Then she looked up at him again, easily softening her voice to that familiar, gentle tone, "How are you feeling?"

No dice. He cocked an eyebrow, "Was that, uh, _sympathy_? Whatever next, _Doctor Nowell_, _con-__**cern**_?"

She nodded, simply, "Yes, it was sympathy. I suppose." She ran a finger over one particular line in his writing, "You've sustained broken ribs. I know from experience broken ribs are painful, _very_ painful."

He shrugged, "Beats the monotony."

"So you're bored too." Something interesting, at least.

He shifted again, looking like he was trying to get into a more comfortable position against the hard medical table, "All dressed up with nothin' to do... _doc_." His eyes scanned her quickly, and his tongue flicked out around his scarred lips, "So, uh... were you involved with a spirited game of rugby with the orderlies _too_?"

She frowned, "Sorry?"

"Broken ribs." He reminded, pointedly, "You said you had broken ribs."

Her brain stumbled for a second, "Oh. No, I... Well..." she trailed off. Actually, it was her husband. Her _first_ husband, before Keith. A three-car pile-up on the highway on her way home from work had resulted in her being twenty minutes late. Gavin had not taken the news well. Not in the slightest.

She had been lucky to get off as well as she did. She came off lightly. A few broken ribs, cuts and some nasty bruises, a concussion, and a sliced-open forehead from when he'd slammed her face-first into the corner of the kitchen cupboard. It didn't sound like 'lightly' when it was in a list. But Gavin had thrown a lot worse her way in dribs and drabs. But it was the pile-up day that the cops seemed to take as the final straw.

She pushed her hair back behind her ear and her fingers brushed against the scar over her eyebrow, reflexively. She pulled them away, quickly, and interlocked them on top of the table, "That's... neither here nor there."

The Joker looked at her, thoughtfully, "Mmm..." there was silence for a moment, and then he straightened again, "Speaking of things that are neither here nor there, that's a _gorgeous_ accent you've got there. What is it, West Virginia?"

That was interesting. Not many people could place her accent. She'd spent a long time dyeing it out. "More or less. Lynchburg."

"Lynchburg? Aint that, uh, Quakersville?"

"Quakersville?"

"Y'know. Quakers. Where the early Quaker settlers lived. Quakersville."

She shook her head, "I... I honestly don't know. I didn't live there for long."

He rolled his eyes, "And they say education is dead... Why d'ya leave?"

"We're not here to talk about me, Joker, we're here to talk about someone else."

He cocked an eyebrow again, "Who?"

She hesitated. Her eyes moved onto the long thin cuts across his cheek, and she nodded at them, "Those marks on your face. The scratches. Where did you get them from?"

He tried and failed to gesture at the sores with restrained hands, raising his eyebrows, innocently, "What, these? Stray cat. You guys really need to tighten up the security in here."

Ah. She should have guessed that this was how this was going to go. Fine. She could play this game too. "Really? Tom or queen?"

"Queen, most _def_initely."

"What was her name?"

He shrugged, "She didn't say. Was remarkably quiet, for a stray. I named her Twitch."

Twitch. What a lovely name to call a paranoid schizophrenic. How appropriate... "Twitch? Was she nervous?"

"She was kinda jittery, yeah."

"How did she look?"

"Underfed," he replied, instantly, nodding, "Thin as a rake. Tried to get some food into her, but she wasn't particularly re-_cep_-tive."

So she still wasn't eating. _For God's sake, Rebecca._ "Coat?"

"Red."

"Anything else?"

"Yeah. She was _really_ bad at roll reversal."

"I meant about her mental state."

He raised his eyebrows, playing innocent again, "Why would you be interested in a _cat's_ _mental state_?"

Andrea bit her lip, "We both know that we're not talking about a cat, Joker. Did she say anything? About where she was? How she was feeling, what she was doing, anything like that?"

"_Well_..." He drew the word out, slowly, leaning back into the reclined bench, "_That_ would be _tell_ing, _wouldn't_ it."

Andrea gritted her teeth. She forced herself to calm. She was a psychologist. A shrink, and a damned good one. But this man was really getting under her skin, and the way he talked so uncaringly about a woman in dire need of help was making her want to scream. She let out a slow breath, and then shook her head, "I'm here to ask you some questions, Joker, you can either answer them or not, nothing I can do will convince you either way."

"You're wrong."

"How is that."

"Well... you could try asking po-_lite_-ly."

She paused for a moment. "Fine. Joker. I need your help."

He smiled, "I figured. What d'ya need, doc?"

"Your injuries. After you, uh..." she glanced down at his notes, distastefully, "'Fell down the stairs'..."

He nodded, still smiling, "Yes, wasn't a very o_rig_inal one, was it? If it were me, I'd say the patient encountered his injuries whilst playing a game of get'shuk with a Rottweiler and a blender."

Getshook. She scribbled the unfamiliar word down in her notes, but didn't ask, "...they were sustained shortly after a visit to another patient. Do you remember?"

"Doctor Nowell, could you take a look at that there sheet and tell me whether _'amnesia'_ is written on it?"

She couldn't help but smile, if only slightly. If it weren't for the whole 'murderer' part, he and Rebecca would be damned _twins_. "Do you remember?"

There was a long pause, and she was just about to open her mouth to ask again when he answered: "Yes."

"Good. She's my patient."

"Uh, no, she's Doctor _Crane's_ patient." He said, pointedly.

"Well. She... _was_ my patient."

The Joker leaned back, the bed creaking with the strain, "Well well. So you're the original, huh? The cherry-popper?"

"Excuse me?"

"Her _fffirst_."

She wanted to wince. But she had long since trained her body to ignore the reflexes sent by her brain. Instead she flicked through her papers, delicately, and then looked back up at him, "No. I was her first Arkham psychologist. But she hasn't been here for that long."

"Two years."

"Excuse me?"

"Why were you signed off her?"

"I don't know."

"Why do you _think_ you were signed off of her?"

"I don't know."

"Don't you think that's something you _should_ know?"

"You ask a lot of questions."

"And you _an_swer _none_. Why are you here."

She paused, looking at him for a moment. "I just want to talk to you about her."

"_Why_-uh?"

"I'm... concerned."

He cocked his head, "_Again_. E_-mo-_tional one, aren't ya? Y'know, you remind me of a_nother_ doctor I once knew..."

"Joker, if you would stop trying to deliberately derail the conversation, that would be helpful." Andrea said, firmly.

The Joker glanced at her, looking almost surprised, "You know, you're much more _to-the-point_ than my _o-_ther shrinks."

"I'm concerned about my patient. Very concerned. I will do all I can to help her, even if that involves being more... _to-the-point_, as you put it." She settled back, pulling in a slow breath, "Now. Maybe you'll admire that. Admire the lengths I'm willing to go to for my patients."

That damned eyebrow rose again, "_Lengths_?"

"Well. Let's be honest here. We both know I'm wary of you."

"And why is _that_?"

One good thing about being a psychologist in this hellhole was that she had the patience to play. "You're an intimidating man."

He rolled his eyes, "Oh, what sweet things you say..."

"You're a murderer." There was a long pause, and she flicked through her notes again, "So. Maybe you'll admire my persistence, even against things I fear. Maybe you won't. Maybe you'll consider it overconfident. Let's find out. I want to talk about my patient. Nothing else."

"Hmmm..." he looked at her for a long time. She didn't fidget, and kept his eyes. Her heart was fluttering in her chest. He shifted against his restraints, rattling the handcuffs that kept them in place. "Well. How about we, uh, _ne-__**go**__-ti-ate_-uh?"

She leaned forwards a little, having been fully prepared for this, "What do you want?"

"A lot of things. But I... bet you're talkin' _short_-term."

"I could talk to Doctor Crane. I'm not saying my opinion has much weight in this place, but I'm ready to bet Doctor Weigel would back me up. Any benefits would rely on good behaviour, of course."

His lips twitched in a small, lopsided smile, "Oh, don't you worry, I'll be a good little crazy. And, anyway. What I _wannnt_... you could give me right here."

All her muscles tensed. His eyes were moving over her. "What do you want." she asked again, quietly.

He leaned forwards as far as he could, "Just a question answered. Think you can do that for me, _doc_?"

"That depends on the question."

"Mmm, I knew you'd say that." He looked at her for a moment, his tongue feeling out the right hand scar. Andrea found her eyes slipping onto it like they were magnetically attracted. Transfixed. He craned his neck, moving even closer to her, "Pretty little Red... what's her real name?" she must have looked surprised, for he smirked, licking the scar again, slowly, "She wouldn't say."

_I __**bet**__ she wouldn't..._ The way he said just her _nick_name made the seasoned doctor's skin crawl. "Why d'you want to know?"

"_Cu-ri-o-si-ty_. _Wellll_? What's her name."

Andrea paused for a moment. Every single second of her medical history was screaming at her no. Confidentiality issues, medical setbacks, physical and emotional danger - for Rebecca _and_ the hospital - no _limit_ of possibilities were outrageous when dealing with the Joker. God knows why he'd passed by any number of other benefits in favour of this one little question, but she had learned long ago that nothing was simple with this particular patient. Nothing could be taken at face-value.

And, besides. If she were to give him Rebecca's name, who was to say he wouldn't immediately clam up afterwards? "Why don't you give me something first and then you can be rewarded for your efforts."

He raised his eyebrows, "Why d'you think the name matters so _much_ to me?"

"I don't know," she replied, truthfully, "But it seems to mean a lot. So why don't you give me something to work with, here."

The Joker stared at her for a moment. Then he smiled, darkly, "Go _onnn_..."

Andrea almost sighed with relief. She flicked to a new page in her notepad, her hand brushing across the tape recorder in her pocket as she did so, and then shook her head, "Let's start easy."

"Let's."

"What did you think of her, when you saw her?"

"Hmmm..." he paused for a moment, mock thinking, "_Belle et cassable, une femme parfaite._"

The way he had said it made it sound almost like a rhyme, like a song. She frowned, "Excuse me?"

"She was sweet. And _scared_."

"She's a paranoid schizophrenic. She's always scared."

He nodded, "Well _yeeaaaah_... but she wasn't scared of me."

She looked at him, "What are you talking about."

"How'd she end up in a place like this?"

Derailing the conversation again... How Tracy had managed to stand more than five minutes of this was a complete mystery. "That's confidential."

"You don't _know_, _do_ you."

"No." She admitted, slightly reluctantly, "I don't think _any_one does."

"_Johnny_-boy does."

She glanced up at him, frowning, "What are you talking about."

"'You wouldn't believe me if I told you. I'm a paranoid schizophrenic, remember?'"

"She said that?"

He smiled, "The Brothers Grim arranged that little visit 'cause they thought it'd scare some sense into her. And, y'know what's funny? Johnny-boy _let_ 'em."

"But... what do you mean?" she asked, her heart rigid in her chest, her fingers tight on the clipboard she was holding, "But... but he wasn't there. He didn't know. He _couldn't_ have known. Could he?"

The Joker was lounging back in his chair again, eyes tracing the walls, the floors, anywhere but her face, "D'you wanna hear a story?"

She looked at him, completely thrown, "What?"

"A story." He repeated, encouragingly, like someone helping a friend cram before an important exam.

She shook her head, unable to restrain her frustration, "Joker, what were you saying. About Doctor Crane, what were you saying."

"D'you wanna know how I got my scars?"

Doctor Nowell hesitated. She knew how important _that_ story would be. Tracy would kill her if she at least didn't follow it out. But, to be completely honest, it wasn't _this_ patient's progress that she was concerned about.

"Do you wanna tell me?" she said, finally, looking at him, seriously.

His eyes caught onto hers, "Uh-_huh_."

She hesitated again. "I'm not your shrink, Joker, maybe you should tell Doctor Weigel. Now if we could get just back to -"

"It's not a very _lonnnng_ story. It won't take two minutes."

Her inner self felt like throwing her clipboard straight into the wall. She resisted the urge. "Fine. Tell me."

* * *

"You see, I had this friend. _Angie_, her name was. Pretty little thing. Sweet. _Vul-ner-a-ble_." The Joker shook his head, nonchalantly, gesturing passionately with his hands, "And she had this _guy_, y'know how it is. Mikey Cartwell, high school sweetheart, head of the soccer team, nicest guy you could ever meet, blonde hair blue eyes, you know how it is. Anyway... one day I come over to, uh, see how she's doing. And she's... crying. In the corner. Covered in bruises and blood." He looked at her for a second, "Turns out _Mi_key isn't as _nice_ as he puts _on_."

Andrea's frustration had now completely gone. She sat completely still in her chair. She knew she was tensed. She knew her nails were digging into the soft flesh of her palms. But she couldn't stop herself.

"I... I don't know what to do," he continued, stammering slightly, emotion wild in his dark eyes, his foot tapping reflexively against the metal bed legs, "I... I was just a kid. I barely understood _myself_. She just wants help. She wants me to help her." He looked at her, and she was struck by the deepness of his eyes, "I can do that.

"I pack all her things, clean up, tell her I'll - I'll help her. I'll get her out, away from him, so he, he can't hurt her, not ever again. I know I have to - you, you understand." His teeth started digging into his lower lip, "But, lo and behold... little Mikey comes home early. And he's not happy." Eyes up again, and she couldn't let go, "Not. At. All."

Andrea let out a shaky breath. She felt sick. She wanted him to stop. She knew he wouldn't. All she could hear was tapping. The tapping of his heel against the metal. Metallic, harsh, clinking taps.

"He just - he just goes _crazy_! He's on her in a second, screaming at her, grabbing her wrists, I try to help but he threw me to one side, I hit my head on the wall, and he's on her, still shouting, screaming, yelling, and Angie's crying again, she's screaming back, pulling, tugging, trying to get away from him."

She wanted to close her eyes. She couldn't.

_Oh God, stop. Please. Please stop. Don't keep going. Please. Stop._

"And he's thrown her against the wall, swearing, cursing at her, calling her a whore, a slut, all manner of things, and he's hitting her, God, he's hitting her, she's already taken a beating, no, stop, _stop_!"

_She could feel every hit, pain splitting through her, sharp and new with each blow, she choked on blood as it burst into her mouth, God, what was happening, what was __**happening?**_

"I've never even seen anything like it, he's like an animal, she's on the floor and -"

_Kicks to the chest, the stomach, a foot slammed down on her ankle, cries coming out reflexively from her mouth, her arms protecting her head, never trying to get away, because she knew if she did that it would only get worse, only enrage him further, but, oh God, she didn't think she could take much more of this, just constant pain, constant noise._

"- and she's choking, screaming, yelling, fighting, all that blood, all those screams -"

"Stop it." The voice didn't sound like hers, the words just slipped from her mouth.

"- just screaming, all that blood, all those blows, blow after blow after blow -"

"Stop."

"- and he's got her by the hair and slamming her head down against the floor, again and again and again, just _bang bang bang bang_, oh God, no, _no_."

_He was worse today, she knew it, as pain shot through her head as he rammed her down against the kitchen cabinet, sparks blinding her vision, blood pumping hotly over her eyes, down her face, hot and slick against her skin._

"I try again, I try to help her, but it's pointless, he's so much stronger, so much faster, and he's wild, just hurting her, hurting her, kicking the life out of her and -"

_The pain as Gavin landed a kick deep into her lower back, her kidneys, nothing was quite like it, she could feel the blood drain instantly from her face, feeling like she was going to hurl, pain exploding in her body, feeling something pop inside her, God, she'd be pissing blood tonight._

"Oh God, no, anything but that. Anything but that. Please. Leave her alone. No. Anything but that."

Andrea could barely hear the stable _clink clink clink_ of his heel against the table leg now. All she could hear was screams and the pounding of her own heart, she could smell blood and sweat on her clothes, tears sliding freely down her face.

The Joker pulled his knees up to his chest, recoiling into a ball on his hospital chair, his speech so fast now, so flowing, "But he's got her on the ground, and he's on top of her, she's bleeding so heavily, God, he's gonna kill her, he's gonna kill her, but he's tearing at her top, no, I can't watch this, don't, _please_!"

_Blood pumping out of her, white-hot pain sparking with even the slightest movement, and he was pacing, pacing the floor in front of her before turning round and driving another ferocious kick into her stomach. Maybe she was sick. She couldn't tell._

"But he does, he, he does it, he actually does it, oh my god, and I'm just sitting there, against the wall, watching, horrified, and then... and then, oh _God_ he's got a knife. He's got a knife, and he's taking it to her, first light lines, slight scratches, and then deeper, and deeper, and she's screaming, she's _screaming_, oh God, no, Angie, _**no**_!"

_And her mind was just begging for it to end, for her to pass out, to die, for it to stop, just to stop, because she didn't understand, what had she done, she had __**married**__ this man, this was __**her Gavin**__, what had he __**become**__?_

"And then... and then he stops. He stands up. Little Angie aint movin'. She's just... lying there." Shaky breaths filled the second's silence. Andrea couldn't tell who they were coming from. "And... and he _looks_ at me. And he says... 'Why aint you smiling? You got to see your little _whore_ at _work_, didn't you?'" his voice tightened, all his muscles tensed, his hands shaking, "He comes towards me with the knife, dripping with Angie's blood. 'What, didn't you like her? You still aint smiling. C'mon. Let's see a _smile_.' And then..."

He lashed out faster than she would ever have expected, grabbing her by the shoulder and yanking her off her chair. She didn't have time to think about how he had undone the restrains, he hauled her forwards, dragging her onto the bed on top of him. Her eyes caught his, wide, her heart pounding in her stomach, her hands, the sides of her head. One hand stayed hard on the scruff of her neck while the other swiftly sealed itself over her mouth.

The Joker looked at her, cocking an eyebrow, "Why so nervous? C'mon. Let's see a _smile_."

He leaned forwards, towards her, pulling her down as he did. She felt like she was going to scream. Then, slowly, he licked a long line from the corner of her mouth to just below her cheekbone. She struggled, desperately, but he held her firmly still, and did the same to the other side. She felt tears prick at her eyes, and struggled to regain control.

The Joker looked at her, those dark eyes burning holes into hers. "What's her real name."

He slowly moved his hand off her mouth, peeling his fingers away one by one. Andrea didn't scream. Her eyes were frozen on his. "R... Rebecca. Rebecca Wells."

"_Re-__**be**__-cca_..." he savoured the word in his mouth long after it was finished. Then, abruptly, he let her go, shoving her off him, paying no attention as she staggered back, almost falling, "You can go now, doc. It was a real pleasure talkin' to you."

Andrea stayed in her place for a few seconds. Then she grabbed her notes, stumbling slightly as her bag got caught on the chair's armrest, yanking it off, turning sharply on her heel and practically _sprinting_ out the room, the door shutting with a bang behind her.

* * *

The Joker's eyes stayed on the door for a moment. He smiled. Then grinned. Then giggled. Then laughed, hysterically, long and loud, not stopping even when the orderlies came running into the room to get his handcuffs back into place, barking orders at him, trying to get him to shut up, he wouldn't stop laughing.

It had almost been too easy...


	27. Chapter 27: Counting Hurdles

**Chapter 27: Counting Hurdles**

_Saturday, December 19__th__._

Doctor Crane's eyes locked onto their blue opposites. "So let me get this clear." He said, his voice deadly soft, "In Arkham Asylum... _my_ asylum... one of the most prestigious and well-known asylums for the criminally insane in all of America... one of the most dangerous inmates to ever walk through those doors was left - _alone_ - with a young, female doctor because of a... _technicality_?"

The young guard winced at the word, and the tone it was given in, and shook his head, weakly, "His usual guy weren't here."

"_Wasn't_ here." Crane corrected, coolly, "So why wasn't he assigned a replacement?"

"I don't know. Gordon's off, and Stu's in Malta for the week. When Peck called in sick, Dwayne was scheduled in for him, but he's been off for days, they think he's got swine flu."

His eyes didn't move. "So it was a... _clerical error_."

"Dunno. Guess so."

The doctor gave a low, testy sigh. This sort of thing was an absolute nightmare, and one that seemed to happen quite often. But the fact that it had included one of their most infamous killers wasn't helping the situation.

"Doctor Nowell was left alone with our most dangerous patient. And, to top it off, you go in to find he has undone his _restraints_. Do you even realise what this means?"

"It weren't _all_ of his restraints," Eddie protested, weakly, "Just... just the ones on his hands. He was still strapped to the chair."

Crane's eyes flashed, "How fortunate. And you were not present in this interview _because_?"

"She... I mean, _Doctor Nowell_... said she didn't want me in the room while... while the session was goin'."

"And you _listened_ to her?"

His eyes moved down to the floor, "She's the doc," he mumbled, shaking his head again, "He's her patient."

At this he slammed his hands down on the table, "This is not some simple schizoid, this is the _Joker_! And you'd do well to remember that!" Eddie's eyes fell to the floor once again, and he sighed. "Doctor Nowell. Did she say what she wanted to discuss with the patient?"

"Uhh..." the guard thought for a moment, and Crane's fingers started tapping against the desk, testily, "Not _really_... she just said it was somethin'... _discrete_."

One eyebrow rose. "_Discrete_?"

"Yeah."

"And... nothing else."

"Nah. She closed the door."

She closed the door. Crane let his eyes fall shut, almost wearily. Of _course_ she did.

"Doc-... Doctor Crane?"

He opened them again, "Yes?" he asked, crisply.

Eddie cringed a little. Then he shook his head, "Have you... heard anythin' from Doctor Nowell? She just... seemed pretty shaken."

"No, Eddie, I haven't." He paused for a second, and then shook his head, "But we will discuss this further later. Get back to your duties."

The young guard seemed surprised. "So I'm not..."

"Not what?"

"Not..." he hesitated again, "Not in trouble over this?"

Crane looked at him.

_You have no idea, __**Eddie**__._ Scarecrow growled, fervently.

"No," he replied, finally, "But consider this your final warning. Get out."

The boy needed no further telling, and turned on his heel, immediately leaving the room and closing the door behind him.

* * *

Crane settled back into his chair with a low sigh. Doctor Nowell was beginning to prove more trouble than she was worth. Her 'concerns' she had to come to him with had been easily diverted, and even her sending Rodriguez down to check up on Wells was something he could deal with, but the further along he went in this experiment the more persistent she seemed to be becoming, and calling a meeting with the Joker was a crossed line he could not ignore. It was obvious what she wanted. She wanted the girl.

Crane got to his feet, sharply, pacing a little. How much had he told her? There weren't CCTV cameras in the Medical Facility, as Nowell knew full well. He wasn't extremely concerned - anything the Joker said would have been dismissed as mad raving, as it always was. But Crane knew that behind the costume and the makeup was a dark, sadistic intelligence so sharp it almost rivalled his own.

Did _Nowell_?

It was a thought. Maybe she did. Maybe she had listened to every word. After all, she had gone to him, hadn't she? And she must have known what he was like. Doctor Weigel must have told her. But she had still wanted to talk. Still wanted to ask him some questions.

But _what_?

The phone on his desk rang, for the fifth time in the last half hour. He walked over and cancelled the call, impatiently, returning immediately to his pacing. It was no doubt Ms Hoffman, or Werner perhaps, and no good would come of him having to put up with their inane babble whilst he was in this sort of mood. When he was like this Scarecrow could take over in a blink of an eye, and there had been enough blood spilled on this carpet in the last few weeks. He didn't want to add any more.

The phone rang again. He gave a testy sigh through gritted teeth. Crow was calling in his head. Crane took a few moments to force him back into his usual hole, and then turned back to the desk. He paused. The phone was silent, still. The ringing sounded again, and he placed a hand on his pocket, pulling out his chirruping cell. He frowned at it for a moment, and then shook his head, accepting the call and putting the speaker to his ear, "Doctor Crane."

"This is Crane? Doctor Jonathan Crane?"

He paused for a moment. He didn't recognise the voice. "Who's this?"

"My name's Cortez. I've heard you've been trying to get in contact."

* * *

"Andrea! Andrea, let me in."

Andrea closed her eyes and let her forehead lean against the cold wall.

"Andrea. Open the door. _Please_, Ann. Open the door. I'm... I'm not gonna _hurt_ you."

"I know. I _know_, Keith. Just, please, I need to be alone right now."

She could hear his frustrated, concerned sigh through the wood, "I... I wish you would tell me what this is _about_. Come on, I lift a _hand_ and you flinch. It's..." he hesitated, and then ploughed on again: "It's Gavin, isn't it. Is he out? Out of Blackgate, did he get out?"

She shuddered despite herself, "_No_, Keith, he didn't get out. Just... _please leave_."

"No. I won't. Not until you talk to me."

She sighed. What exactly did he want her to say? That she couldn't stand the sight of him, hated the feel of his hand on her shoulder, her back, that she shook whenever he met her eyes and smiled?

No. No, she couldn't. She couldn't face him. She couldn't let him in. She wanted to, she just... _couldn't_.

"Keith -"

"Tracy called."

She paused for a moment. She tried hard to pay attention, tried hard to care, "Yeah?"

"Yeah. She left a message. Asking if you were alright. Said you'd left work last night without telling anyone. Without talking to her."

"Mm."

"And that she knew why. She wants you to call as soon as possible. She wants you back in."

She closed her eyes again. "Is that right."

She couldn't think of anywhere she'd less like to be. Except Blackgate, perhaps. All she wanted was to crawl back into bed and forget, just for a moment. Except she had tried that last night. She hadn't slept a minute.

_And she's choking, screaming, yelling, fighting, all that blood, all those screams -_

She shuddered again, and shrunk back down to the floor, covering her face again, shaking.

"Andrea?" Keith tried again, hesitantly. He got no reply. "Ann. Please."

Andrea lowered her hands from her face. She forced her breathing to slow. She would _not_ have another panic attack. Not again. Not here.

"_Rebecca. It's okay. Everything's okay. You can come with me, now."_

She thought about that girl. Huddled in a bathroom corner, not unlike she was doing now. Head buried in her knees, counting the drips of the leaky tap above her.

How had she calmed her down then?

Establishment of control. Keeping distance. Knowing that she wouldn't like it if she got too close. Next? Getting down to her level, crouching down, making herself less threatening, and offering a name, _first_ name, making it personal. Then establishment of prior events - what had led her to be in this room, exactly why Claire had inadvertently abandoned her like she had. Rebecca had blown straight through that one. So next. Counting. Understanding. Counting the water drips.

The tiles on the floor. Four by twelve. Forty-eight total. Twenty-four black, twenty-four white. There was never a leaky tap in this house. Keith was a DIY master.

_**Keith**_, her mind said, firmly, _Your __**husband**__. You're scaring the __**shit**__ out of him. Just who the fuck do you think you are?_

The words were sharp. Almost _disgusted_. They were made to wound.

Slowly, Andrea Nowell got to her feet, using her hands to push up on the bathroom wall behind her. She closed her eyes for a few moments, and took in a few slow, deep breaths. Okay. Here we go.

She turned to the door. Hesitantly, her hands moved up to the latch, and, oh so slowly, slid it across. She took hold of the door handle, pushing it down, opening the door the slightest crack.

Keith turned to the sound, quickly. His gaze flew over her quite probably unkempt appearance, and then he sighed, shaking his head, his eyes returning to hers, "God, Andrea."

Tears pricked at her eyes again, and she threw herself at him, yanking him down into a ferociously tight hug.

That was one hurdle completed. If only it could be the last...

* * *

There was a short pause.

"Cortez," Crane said, finally, fluidly, without an ounce of emotion, "Good to hear from you." He paused for a second, and then turned on the spot, frowning, curiously, "How did you get my cell number?"

"I know a man who knows everything." Cortez replied, easily.

"Hmm... What a useful man to be in contact with..."

He thought he could sense a smile in the man's tone, "_Very_ useful. My apologies, you weren't answering your office phone."

"No, I wasn't. It was my understanding that we were supposed to be meeting today."

"Yes, but I'm afraid something's come up. A friend of mine was supposed to have a reunion today with an old client, but things went badly, and..." a light chuckle moved down the line, a sentiment Crane had not been expecting, "Well. You know how it is."

"Is that right."

The caller laughed again, "You're cautious. I understand. No doubt you're trying to get a caller's number right now, but you won't succeed. I'm a cautious man myself."

Crane paused for a moment, "This line is secure?"

"_Mine_ is. How about yours?"

"Very."

"Good. Then we can talk. I've sent you something you might find interesting, as a token of good will."

He cocked an eyebrow, "Yes? What is it?"

"Recordings. _Original_ recordings. I thought you might like to listen to them, considering your research."

"You have _recordings_?"

"Yes. I've sent them with a... _trusted_ messenger. He'll deliver them to you and you only. If it should fall into the wrong hands... well. This conversation is being recorded, and I can be as far as San Jose by tomorrow afternoon." Not a flicker of emotion passed through the man's voice, and this time he was sure he could hear his smile, "Just so we understand each other."

"Of course."

"I'm sure you'll find the tapes very... interesting. Especially from a psychological aspect. It'll be interesting to have an outside opinion on my work."

Crane frowned, "Work?"

"Well. _Creation_, shall we say."

He paused, and when he didn't continue, he shook his head, "You're going to have to specify."

"You've looked at my little Rebecca, of course? She's my masterpiece."

Crane listened hard. The intonation, the words, the emotion behind them. He calculated it all. "Masterpiece."

"Indeed. And I'm very glad we can have this chat. I'm glad other people will be able to see my work, what she's become."

"And what is that, exactly?"

Cortez laughed, "You know full well what you've got in your little nest, Doctor Crane! You know it better than _any_one."

"Enlighten me. What is she."

"She's perfect. Just how she is." There was a rustle of clothing as the called seemed to shake his head, and his voice became slightly more immersed, "You've seen her, Doctor Crane. She was fiery, passionate, happy, ferociously independent, and _now_ what is she? Moody, changeable, violent, dependent, compulsive - I must admit I wasn't expecting the _schizophrenia_, but it proved quite an interesting side-effect, don't you agree?"

Crane cocked an eyebrow, "You were _expecting_ the other outcomes?"

"When one works with this sort of area for as long as I have - or as _you_ have - certain aspects become... expected. Mundane. But it's been some time since I've managed a creation as... _pure_... as Rebecca. She was the perfect candidate." He paused, and something in his voice suddenly became a little sinister: "I'm life and death to her, Doctor Crane. You create phobias. I create... something else."

There was a short pause. Crane's grip tightened a little on the cell. "Phobias?" he asked, his voice perfectly neutral.

Cortez laughed, his good mood back in an instant, "There's no need to go down _that_ route with me, doctor. I know full well the particulars of your workload, as well as you know mine. Your distrust is well-founded, perhaps, but don't you think it a little late for such suspicions?"

The doctor forced his hand to loosen its hold, and turned back to his desk, taking in a slow breath to stabilise himself once again, "Of course. Then tell me. What _do_ you... _create_."

"Attachment. In a manner of speaking. You've read Bowlby, of course?"

A bristle of annoyance went through him, but he answered smoothly: "Of course."

"And Schneider, Bejerot?"

"Yes."

"Then there is your answer. See, your study into her phobia is truly fascinating. It is. But, although I am very interested in that particular subject, there is another that compels me more." He gave a short, ironic laugh, "Even more so than little Rebecca herself. Her _religious beliefs_."

"Her Catholicism?"

"Indeed."

"But she's abandoned her religion. Forgotten it."

"Not completely. Something that deep-set never truly goes away. Her religion had a... _extremely_ interesting outcome on my experiments."

Crane shook his head, "Yes... I understand the feeling."

"Ah, of course. She is not reacting properly, is she? Well, that is to be expected. With all respect to you, Doctor Crane, her fears are a little more... _complex_ than any normal phobia."

There was a short pause. They were nearing something close here, but the doctor had no intention of sending the frankly quite infuriating man spinning back into colloquialism, "How so?"

"You see, what little Rebecca's afraid of isn't being raped. She's had that before, and once you've had both sides of the spectrum of that - the psychological side and the physical side - you've pretty much had it all. No. Her true phobia, what she _really_ fears, is different, something much deeper and much more complicated."

"What is it." Crane asked again, the hint of sharpness in his voice barely audible, "What is she scared of."

Cortez paused, and this time he was absolutely sure he could sense a smile, "She's scared of _enjoying_ it."


	28. Chapter 28: True Fear

**Chapter 28: True Fear**

"She's afraid of... _enjoying_ it..." Crane repeated, thoughtfully.

"Correct."

"How interesting... Some sort of mix between genophonia and virginitiphobia..."

"With a touch of paraphobia added in for good measure, yes." He knew if Cortez was in front of him, he would see a casual shrug, "I also think, personally, that she's _theophobic_, as _well_."

Crane frowned, "Theophobic? Scared of... _God_? Why?"

"Because she feels guilt." He replied, simply, "You'll need to talk to her priest. She'll have made a full confession. You know she was excommunicated, of course?"

"I had suspected something of the sort, yes."

"She was excommunicated by choice. She _chose_ to be forbidden her faith."

"Because she felt guilt."

"Exactly."

Jonathan paused for a moment, thinking, "Why would she think she enjoyed it?"

"Well, because I _told_ her she did." Again his voice was very simple, very easy, "Guilt... is a powerful thing, Doctor Crane. Just as much as fear." There was a pause, and then another rustle-shrug, "And, of course, her body did react to it. Physically I made it very gratifying for her."

"Gratifying?"

"It was her first time, and she was only eighteen. It could have hurt a lot more than it did. I made it as easy for her as possible."

Silence held for a moment. Crane was now finding it very difficult to keep his mind on the task at hand. His psychologist's brain was seizing on the man's speech, the words he used, flicking through mental textbooks, bringing up new images and old theories, calculating with an intensity and depth that he hadn't had to use for what felt like a very long time.

This mystery man was beginning to prove almost as interesting as the girl _herself_...

Cortez seemed to sense his thoughts, and, far from feeling threatened, seemed to find it _amusing_, "What's going on in that head of yours, Doctor Crane."

"Pretty much that exact question, Mr Cortez." He replied, easily, "How I'd love to get you on my couch."

He laughed, "Oh, I doubt you'd find anything wrong with me, Doctor Crane. At least not that you wouldn't see in yourself. An interest in experimentation? A craving for knowledge? An intense belief that the pursuit of science should be continued to the end, no matter what the cost? Can these things truly be labelled as psychological disturbance?"

Crane tilted his head slightly to one side in a half-shrug, "Actually, I had already partially diagnosed some sort of latent personality disorder. Along with maybe psychopathic tendencies? Unless you're just a highly functioning sociopath, of course."

"You would diagnose me as highly functioning?" Cortez said, sounding genuinely surprised, "Thank you."

"You're very welcome. Now. I am interested in following Miss Wells' case further. You said I should try speaking to her priest?"

"Correct. However, her _parish_ priest probably won't be much use to you. The Church she went to back home was the same campus as her old school, the Assumption of the Blessed Virgin Mary, but she was far out of town when the ambulance crew found her."

"So she sought out another priest?"

"Well. When she was found she was taken into the Sacred Heart hospital in Allentown, where she was kept under close observation. However, there was one day when Rebecca went unaccounted for, where she managed to escape the hospital and was found hours later in the graveyard of a church barely a mile away, the Church of the Immaculate _Conception_... _of_ the Blessed Virgin Mary. She'll have made her confession there, guaranteed."

"Allentown..." he repeated, thoughtfully, running through a few maps in his mind, "Pennsylvania... It'll take a few hours."

"At least tomorrow is a Sunday."

"At least."

"I've done a little research. The pastor you'll want is Father Colin Thomas. He was the only one scripted on duty at that particular time. He was Wardening. Closing up."

"So he is the only one Wells could have talked to."

"Indeed." There was something different about the pause this time, almost thoughtful, "You know what... call me nostalgic, but I truly would like to see my darling one last time... would it be intruding to ask to accompany you to Allentown tomorrow?"

Crane thought about it, quickly. Well, why not? After all, his knowledge of Catholicism - and of his little 'darling' herself - seemed substantial. He could be quite useful, despite the slight frustration he seemed to bring up in him.

"Of course not, Mr Cortez." He replied, smoothly, "Your... _expertise_ in this particular area would be very welcome."

Another smile, "I'm glad you think so. It will be very interesting to see her again... Her _passion_ was what I really valued, you know. Her ability to fight. Unfortunately that seems to have been bleached away a little. But a certain amount of vulnerability is just another of her... _side-effects_, I'm afraid."

"Well. She has proved very difficult to test so far. _Despite_ her... _side-effects_."

Cortez laughed, "On the contrary, Doctor Crane. With a little help, I'm sure you'll find affecting her from now on _very easy_..."

* * *

"You got a cigarette?"

Tracy started, turning sharply on the spot, her surprise slowly fading into an undeniable expression of relief, "_Andy_." She surveyed her for a moment, and then shook her head, "You... you don't smoke."

Andrea gave a weak smile, leaning back against the wall of her old friend's office, "I don't care. I'd accept _acid_ if it was going right now."

The younger doctor echoed the smile, "I know the feeling." She hesitated, and then moved over to her, putting a hand on her arm, "Thank you for coming back. I've been worried sick."

"Keith told me you called."

"Yeah. And he told _me_ you were having some sort of freaky _panic_ attack."

Nowell closed her eyes, wearily, mentally cursing her husband's protective streak, "It... wasn't as bad as it sounded."

"Like hell it wasn't." Tracy paused, looking at her, closely, "Are you alright, Andy?"

She shook her head, firmly, "Tracy, I don't wanna think about it right now. The last thing I need is me getting so paranoid I'm constantly lookin' over my shoulder."

"Sorry." She hesitated again, and then shook her head, "So. Was it about...?" she faded off, seemingly unable to say the 'J' word.

"Your enigmatic patient?" she completed, cocking an eyebrow, shrewdly. The younger psychiatrist just blushed a little, and she sighed, "Well. He's certainly a charmer..."

"He... he didn't hurt you, did he?"

"No. No, don't worry about me. He just..." it was Andrea's turn to hesitate, "He just... gets into your head a little bit."

Tracy gave a low, weary sigh, letting her hand fall from her arm and turning her back, settling back down in the chair behind her desk, "Now that I can _definitely_ relate to. He screwed you around too?"

"Led me so many times around the garden path the damned thing's eroded away."

The girl allowed a light chuckle, "Yeah. That's him." Her smile faded, and blue eyes flickered up to hers, almost anxiously, "Did you get anything?"

Andrea sighed, and shook her head, "I don't know. It was all too... quick." Then she shook her head again, and reached into her pocket, pulling out a small black USB stick, "Here. Why don't you have a listen yourself."

Tracy took the stick, her eyes locked onto it, suddenly in much higher spirits, "You _taped_ it? _Andy_, you're a _star_! Anything interesting?"

She shrugged, "_All_ of it was _interesting_. It's just a matter of whether you can filter out the crap."

"Well, thank you. It'd be interesting to have another comparison." She plugged the USB into her computer and started loading the file, "Hell. Twenty minutes, you can stand him for that long? Any part I should particularly be listening for?"

Andrea paused for a moment. "Well. There is... one bit. Towards the end."

"Yeah? What did he say?"

"He..." her eyes flickered shut for a moment before she firmly opened them, forcing away the still vivid memory, "He told me."

Her friend's eyes abandoned the monitor and moved to hers, concerned, "Told you what?"

"About what brought him here. About... about his scars."

* * *

Doctor Weigel gave a small snort, shaking her head, sceptically, "Oh. He fed you that crap too, did he? Figures..."

Andrea was expecting anything else. Her eyes widened a little with surprise, "He... he told you as well?"

She shook her head again, a little disgust in the expression, "Oh yeah. Drew me right into it as well, smooth bastard. Which one did you get, homeless orphan? Adolescent gang member? No, no, let me guess - _clumsy blacksmith_, that's more his style."

"He's got _lots_ of these stories?" she pressed, frowning.

"Yeah. Gives a different one each time he tells it. But he only talks to the docs he _really_ likes. So which one did _you_ get?"

She paused a beat. "Abusive husband."

Tracy glanced up at her, "Husband?"

"Not his. His friend's. Angie."

Her friend's expression seemed to change instantly into one of horror, "_Angie_? Oh my _God_. But... how did he find it out? Did _you_ tell him? 'Cause I swear to God, I didn't say a word! _Did_ you tell him?"

Andrea frowned again, now a little confused, "Tell him what?"

"Your _name_."

"No, of _course_ I didn't, why?"

Tracy shook her head, "You don't get it? Angie? Andy? _Andrea_?"

An unexplained chill went through her spine. "What are you saying." She asked, quietly.

"It's a word-play! On your name! He does it all the time!"

There was a short pause. "A word-play." The chill was spreading all the way through her body now, flowing down her back, sending goosebumps over her arms and making the hair stand up on the back of her neck.

"But that doesn't make any sense." Her friend continued, shaking her head again, apparently unaware of the sudden silence, "How did he get your name? And why was he talking about with an _abuse_ case?"

An _abuse case_.

"_So, uh... were you involved with a spirited game of rugby with the orderlies __**too**__?"  
_"_Sorry?"  
_"_Broken ribs. You said you had broken ribs."  
_"_Oh. No, I... Well... That's... neither here nor there."_

The look in his eyes as he fixes his gaze on hers. The eyes so deep, so dark, so full of some make-believe passion. Meaningful. Purposeful.

Sadistic.

"_Turns out __**Mi**__key isn't as __**nice**__ as he puts __**on**__."_

Mikey Cartwell. The abusive boyfriend. The abusive husband. Angie, Andy, _Andrea_.

_Y'know how it is.  
__You know how it is..  
__I know I have to - you, you understand._

You understand. You know. You _empathise_. Because _you_... _are_ _Angie_. You _are_ Angie. The little girl, such a pretty little thing, sweet, vulnerable - _you know how it is_. And the guy. High school sweetheart. Nicest guy you could ever meet.

"_You know how it is."_

Mikey Cartwell.

_Gavin May_.

Andrea felt her back hit the wall behind her. Her legs felt weak. She shook her head, slowly, a shaky hand moving up to cover her mouth, "Oh my God."

Tracy was over to her in a second, "What? What _is_ it? Are you alright?"

'Andy' shook her head again, "He... he _played_ me." Her eyes stared straight into the opposite wall. She could feel sensation slowly coming back into her body, and she straightened up a little, supporting her own weight. She frowned a little, "But... how did he know?"

Her fellow doctor shook her head, hesitantly, "Know what?"

She paused, and then snapped her eyes up to hers, "Don't worry about it." She let herself drift for a second before shaking her head again, allowing a small, almost hysterical laugh, "I'll tell you one thing, Tracy. That guy you've got in there. He's not a lunatic. He can't be."

Tracy looked at her, "Then... what _is_ he?"

Andy paused, biting her bottom lip. Then she shook her head, and moved her eyes back up to hers. "He's a genius."

* * *

The moment Crane disconnected the call, he returned at once to his desk, clicking quickly onto the internet, searching for the fastest route to this Pennsylvanian church. He had been right, it wouldn't take him more than a few hours to get there. His head was buzzing with something that could have been attributed to excitement. The insight Cortez had given him was far more than he ever could have hoped for, but, though he was itching to test certain theories out on his little guest, he knew he would have to remain patient. After all, with the trip to Allentown tomorrow and Wells' little nurse coming up the day after, he had enough on his plate as it was.

He was also aware of stirring in his mind. He walked over to the door and locked it, deftly, and then turned back to the desk, "Okay, you have questions?"

_Yeah,_ Scarecrow drawled, scathingly, _Just what was all that psychological bullshit supposed to mean, exactly?_

Crane sighed, "It _means_... that we should be trying another tactic with our little schizophrenic..."

_Like __**what**__._

"_Like_..." he thought for a moment, Cortez's words moving through his head, "Maybe we should be trying the _gentle_ approach..."

_Be __**gentle**__ with her?_ He repeated, incredulously,_ Where's the fun in __**that**__?_

He gave a small, humourless smile, "The _fun_? It's her _phobia_, Scarecrow. You're finally gonna hear her scream."


	29. Chapter 29: Forgive Us Our Sins

**Chapter 29: ****Forgive Us Our Sins**

_Sunday, December 20__th__._

Two years. It had been nearly two years. Father Thomas walked across his empty church, packing up after the afternoon service, his hands brushing across a congregational bible. However hard he tried to keep his mind on what he was doing, the truth was that the act of clearing down the church was just so firmly instilled in habit that it was automatic now. It gave his mind chance to wander. Despite how he tried to ensure otherwise.

His mind always returned to that night, especially when he was alone, closing up the church like he was now. Whilst with his congregation, or the other priests, he could suppress it, keep on going like nothing had ever happened, like the events of that day had never come to pass.

January fifth. Nearly two years ago.

_O holy Word of God, you govern all creation with your strong yet tender care. Come and show your people the way to salvation._

The prayers needed to be recited. The candles blown out, the electricity turned off at the wall, the chairs put out, ready for the next service. The doors locked. But he stayed still. He allowed the advent candles to continue to burn, watching the beautiful flickering light, illuminating the nativity scene behind it, complete with empty manger. The Jesse tree stood further to the right, strung with lights and covered in slips of paper, prayers. The Christ candle next to it, waiting to be lit on Christmas Eve.

_O sacred Lord of ancient Israel, who showed yourself to Moses in the burning bush, who gave him the holy law on Sinai Mountain: Come, stretch out your mighty hand to set us free._

He'd turned the lights out long ago. The only light was the flickering candles. It had been the same two years ago. Cold outside - snowing, but not laying - about thirty degrees when he last checked. It had been colder. With a lot more snow.

She must have been so cold.

Colin turned, abruptly, placing both hands on the lid of the organ, trying to steady himself. Father, she was so young. Maybe about seventeen, dressed in a pair of simple black jeans and a red, hooded jacket. She was pale, _very_ pale, with dark circles under her eyes. She was thin, her too-big hoodie hanging off her frame. It was hard to see in the flickering candlelight, but her shoes looked well worn, her clothes dirty. Her face was almost completely hidden, a high collar stuck up to cover her cheekbones and lips, and the deep hood pulled tight around her cheeks, the dim light of the church making her features practically invisible.

_O Flower of Jesse's stem, you have been raised up as a sign for all peoples; kings stand silent in your presence; the nations bow down in worship before you. Come, let nothing keep you from coming to our aid._

No. Don't think about it. Not again. He couldn't go through this, not again.

But he couldn't stop. Every day since that moment, his thoughts would uncontrollably shift onto that one little girl. And when he started thinking about her he just couldn't stop. Where was she? She'd be about twenty by now. If she was even still alive. What had happened to her after the police had picked her up from the graveyard? Why on earth did she ask him to do what he did?

Who was she hiding from.

He wandered towards the back of the church, where the confessional booths were. He ran a hand down the cold wood. He remembered her moving towards him, the way his eyes flittered over her, concernedly, the way she looked, so thin, pale, weak.

"_Child. Are you alright?"  
_"_I wish to make a confession. I'm sorry, I... I know it's late. They... they said it was a Saturday. Is that true?"_

What was she asking there? Was she asking whether they took confessions on a Saturday? Or did she truly not know what day it was?

Either way, the answer was the same: _"Yes. Come with me."_

_O Key of David, O royal Power of Israel controlling at your will the gate of heaven: Come, break down the prison walls of death for those who dwell in darkness and the shadow of death; and lead your captive people into freedom._

He could hear her. Actually _hear_ her. Her voice fluttering, stumbling with her words, a hand moving into her pocket to bring out an old, battered rosary. Her fingers shook as she made the sign of the cross.

"_In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. My last confession was... three weeks ago. Forgive me, father, for I have sinned."  
_"_Speak, child, and let your sins be known to our Father in Heaven."_

She murmured a prayer he had never heard of before, perhaps one of her own making. When he replied with the prayer of reconciliation, he got the feeling that her veiled lips moved along with the words, but no sound came from her mouth.

"_May God who loved the world so much that he sent his Son to be our Saviour, forgive us our sins, and make us holy to serve him in the world. Through Jesus Christ our Lord."  
_"_Amen."_

There was a pause, such a long pause. He looked at the girl through the small mesh window in the separating wall. Her head was lowered, moving slightly as whispered prayers came from her covered mouth. Then she stopped.

"_I don't... I don't want to speak my crimes out loud."  
_"_Everything that is said in this box, my child, is completely confidential."  
_"_I know. But He knows what I did. And you don't want to know."  
__Another long silence. He could hear her soft breathing in the box. "Alright. I assume your sins are... extensive."  
_"_They are obscene."_

Obscene. Colin remembered what he felt. He remembered what he thought, in that moment. His thoughts were occupied with the girl's almost skeletal frame. The shake in her hands. The consistent tapping of her fingers on her knee. Compulsive. Afraid. _Very_ afraid. But... what of?

They had continued the session. The girl recited an Act of Contrition, perfectly, without sheet to guide her. He had quoted scriptures. But when they came to the penance... what else was he supposed to say?

"_Child..."  
_"_Rebecca."  
_"_Rebecca. How am I supposed to give penance if I do not know of your sins?"  
__A small sigh. __"That's okay. Because... because I've already got an idea of an appropriate penance."_

Now the words made his blood run cold. Back then, he had only been confused.

"_Rebecca..."  
_"_Please listen. There is something you can do for me. I want to talk about excommunication."  
_"_I beg your pardon?"  
_"_Excommunication. Specifically... __**modern **__excommunication."  
_He had paused, but indulged what he thought of at the time as simple curiosity: _"Alright. What do you wish to know?"  
_"_How is it done. Is it... I mean, is it still... __bell, book and candle?"  
_"_No, that practice has not been done for centuries, but why...?"  
__A short breath. In. Out. Everything was so pure in the silence. Then she looked up again, fixing him with those dark, dark eyes. "I want to be excommunicated."_

Nothing could have prepared Colin for that back then. Nothing. He had heard so much in that little booth. So many sins, so many crimes. But this girl... she had surprised him.

"_**What**__?"  
_"_I want you to excommunicate me from the Catholic Church. Father, my crimes are something that cannot be forgiven."  
_"_Rebecca, do not give up hope. Our God is a forgiving God. I am certain anything you have done -"  
_"_I killed a man."_

I killed a man. Just like that. I killed him. Dead.

Colin looked up, turned around. He watched the girl climb out of the confession booth, slowly, and himself far more quickly following her. She settled herself down on the arm of a pew, her eyes locked onto the very same Jesse tree he had in front of him this very moment. Her hand came out and stroked along a piece of coloured foil, the candle light sending sparks of purple reflection flittering over her skin.

"I killed a man." She repeated, dully, her voice quiet, "My... my father. I killed my father. I killed him."

"Rebecca -"

"I am going to hand myself in to the police as soon as this is finished and you _have_ to believe me on that. I'll wait while you call them if you like. But... I won't if you don't do this for me." She waited for a long time before taking his eyes again. This time there was... nothing. No emotion. Just darkness. "Please. Excommunicate me."

_O Radiant Dawn, splendour of eternal light, sun of justice: Come, shine on those who dwell in darkness and the shadow of death._

"Father. I have to hand myself in soon. It's getting louder."

"_What's_ getting louder?"

"We need to hurry."

Colin turned away from her, away from the memory, but he could still hear it running through his head - _Don't argue_ - he couldn't keep her out - _This is what I want_ - he could hear her breaths as they got louder, more piercing in the silent church - _Please_ - she seemed to grow desperate, getting to her feet once again -_** Please**_ - moving in front of him, forcing him to meet her eyes.

"Please, father. Do it."

He had looked at her. Looked at the stubbornness and anger and fear emanating from those coal-black eyes. Then he had sealed both of their fates with a single nod.

* * *

Little Rebecca had looked at him for what seemed like hours, but could only have been a few moments. Then she nodded, slowly. She took half a step back.

"If I find out you haven't done it... I will come back, and kill again. And I know you don't want that on your conscience."

Perhaps it was a bluff. Maybe. He would never know. But if she had truly killed her father...

_O King of all the nations, the only joy of every human heart; O Keystone of the might arch of_ _man, come and save the creature you fashioned from the dust._

She turned to leave. Towards the door. Moving out of the church.

He put a hand on her shoulder, "Rebecca."

She span round, quickly, batting his hand off her, and, in the movement, her hood slid back from her features.

Father Thomas closed his eyes, but it didn't get rid of the image forever stuck in his mind. Her face had been black and blue, covered in bruises, cuts, dried blood covering her cheeks, maybe days old, her bottom lip severed in a deep slash that was only just beginning to heal. His heart had frozen in his chest. He had never seen such damage. One of the bruises was as dark as the girl's raven-coloured eyes. The cut across her forehead... stitched shut, professionally so, but uncovered, left to the healing of the air.

How the hell was this girl still _standing_?

_O Emmanuel, king and lawgiver, desire of the nations, Saviour of all people, come and set us free, Lord our God._

The girl paused, and then, slowly, raised shaking hands to her head, pulling the hood back into place. It didn't help. He could still see crusting blood smeared across her cheeks. Then she turned her gaze to his, "Yes, father?"

For a moment, he had just stayed there, still, frozen. Then he managed to open his mouth. "I... I'll need to know your full name. For the process."

She closed her eyes for a second. And then looked at him. "Rebecca. Lauren. Wells."

* * *

A heavy knock ripped Father Thomas out of his thoughts. He paused, his eyes moving onto the oak doors at the other side of the church. He stayed still for some time. Maybe it was just the wind.

No. The knock came again, hard and persistent, _bang bang bang_. His hands clenched into fists at his sides, his heart fluttering. He took a few hesitant steps up the carpeted floor.

What time was it? Four-thirty. More than two hours after the last service of the day had finished. So who was this? The whole situation had an awfully uncanny feel to it. It must be in his head.

He began the walk to the door. He felt like his grip on reality was shifting, changing, which, he decided, was not a particularly pleasant feeling.

Colin got to the door, and, slowly, pulled up the latch. He pulled it towards him, automatically placing a foot beside it to keep the heavy wood from closing again.

A man's face greeted his, smiling, "Good afternoon, father."

"Afternoon." Another echoed, giving a small nod.

He nodded, hesitantly, eyes flickering over the two men in front of him, "Good afternoon. If you are here for the service I'm afraid you just missed it. I was just closing up."

"That's alright. My apologies for missing the service, father, but we are here more to talk to _you_. Is it alright if we have a little chat?"

He hesitated again, but nodded, stepping back to allow the gentleman into the church, "Of course. Of course. Mr...?"

The man with the green eyes smiled, the candlelight flashing on his white teeth, "My name's Cortez. And this is Doctor Crane. We've got a lot to talk about."

* * *

It took less than an hour. Only forty-three minutes later, Doctor Crane pulled open the large church door, the sudden blast of cold winter's air doing marvels for his concentration. Crow was screaming in his head, furious at being denied a crack at the priest himself. But Crane knew his alter ego had to be suppressed, especially here. He would get a chance to vent later, as soon as Werner was out of the picture and they had a clear shot at little Miss Wells.

Cortez stepped out onto the concrete next to him, pulling on a pair of leather gloves. The brunette shot him a small smile, his green eyes sparkling with amusement, "Got what you were looking for?"

Crane nodded, thoughtfully, exhaling a slow breath, "I think I did."

His smile widened. He took the few steps down to the sidewalk, easily. He gave a little mock shiver at the wind, stretching out his shoulders, "A chill's coming on." He turned back to the open doors, cocking his head at the priest still standing by them, "You better get those doors shut quick, father. We don't want your congregation getting under the weather, now, _do_ we?"

Father Thomas, admirably, did not react to the veiled threat, "Don't worry. I'll make sure they don't."

Cortez shot him a raised eyebrow, and then moved it onto the doctor. Crane caught his gaze, and the man nodded towards the priest, pointedly. He looked back at Thomas' lined features, the old man still doubled over slightly with suppressed pain.

"Tell no-one we were here."

The priest looked at him, "Why should I."

Crane cocked an eyebrow, coolly, "You excommunicated a mentally ill girl who had been viciously raped whilst her father was murdered before her own eyes." He let the man hang on that for a while, and then shook his head, "You wanna see that on the front of the Gotham Gazette, then feel free. Tell whoever you want."

Thomas looked at him for a long time. "Who are you."

"Me? I'm the girl's doctor. Good day, father."


	30. Chapter 30: Conspiracy Theories

**Chapter 30: Conspiracy Theories**

_Monday, December 21__st__._

"_Rebecca. Hi."_

"_Hey, Doc. How you doin'?"_

"_Isn't that supposed to be my line?"_

_A small laugh moved around the room. "Yeah. S'pose it is."_

"_So? How you doin'?"_

"_I guess... the usual."_

"_You wanna talk about what happened last week?"_

_No reply. There was a low hiss as the girl took in a slow, deep breath._

"_You remember, yeah?"_

_Again, no response._

"_They've let Nurse Hendrick out of the hospital, now. The doctors say she's gonna be fine."_

_Nothing. Not a whisper._

_Then, finally: "It's too quiet in here."_

"_Maybe it would be less so if you talked to me. Yeah?"_

_No reply._

Doctor Crane reached out and paused the tape. He leant back in his chair, taking a glass of water from the desk and taking a sip, not taking his eyes off what he was doing. His desk was covered with pads of scrawled notes, printed maps and sketched diagrams, and the light he had switched on a few hours ago had done nothing to relieve his migraine. He had been working solidly for about five hours now, listening through these damned recordings for so long that they were threatening to drive him insane.

_Bit too late for that, don't you think?_

Crane shook his head, impatiently, biting back the Scarecrow as quickly as he'd come. He sat upright again, and turned back to the recorder, clicking it to play again.

"_Rebecca? Rebecca, can you hear me?"_

"_Yes."_

"_Are they talking again?"_

_No answer._

_The doctor sighed. "Rebecca. Come on. Talk to me. I'm sorry I mentioned Nurse __Hendrick. I just thought you might want to know she's okay."_

"_Mm."_

"_So you're glad she's okay?"_

_Silence._

_Another sigh. "Rebecca?"_

"_It's too quiet in here."_

"_Yeah? You want the radio on?"_

A click, a shuffle, and few, muffled clunks. The sound of static made Crane wince, and he reached for the volume control before the doctor finally got the thing tuned.

"_Sorry. Here we go."_

Music came from the speakers, but, after only a moment of it playing, Rebecca spoke up again.

"_Turn it off. Now. __**Please**__. Turn it off. Elaine, __**please**__." Her voice was quick, panicky. Scared. _

_The music stopped, hastily, "Okay. Alright, Rebecca."_

"_Is it off?"_

"_Yes. Anything you're hearing now... that's you."_

Crane paused the tape again. He looked at the recorder, frowning slightly. What was _that_ about? He played through the few seconds of music again, listening carefully. It was playing some dire cover of the equally dire 'Hallelujah' by Cohen. He had thought it would be just the redhead's thing, dismal music sung by irritating women. But apparently not...

"_Is it off?"_

"_Yes. Anything you're hearing now... that's you."_

What was she hearing? What did that one piece of music mean to her?

And, most importantly, why was he even asking these questions?

Crane turned, taking hold of the parcel in his in-tray for the fifth time in the last hour, passing it over between his hands, thoughtfully. Six cassette disks. The format wasn't a problem; he had a converter for just this purpose. He often used cassettes himself; he found it more reliable to have a physical copy along with an electronic one. They were C60s. Thirty minutes per side. And there were six tapes.

Six _hours_? Six hours of recordings? Where did they start? Where did they _end_? He hadn't listened to them yet. Not that he hadn't _intended_ to, but... something had stopped him.

Crane shook his head. He was a _doctor_. A _scientist_. God knew why he felt reluctance to gain a further understanding of this girl's situation.

_You really wanna know?_ The Scarecrow spat, scathingly, _It's because you haven't got the guts. Deep down you're a coward, Crane. You know it._

"Shut up." He growled, hand slowly clenching tight onto the side of the desk.

_You want me to shut up? Then __**man**__ up, Crane. Nurse Fuck-Job's comin' round at eight, right? Well. You've got yourself three hours. That's half the tapes._

"And if she walks in early?"

_Then you're fucked._ He replied, simply.

Crane thought about it for a moment. Three hours. Enough for three tapes. Three tapes that would help him substantially with his newest case study.

Was it guilt? No. Disgust? No. No, that wasn't it. So _why_? What _was_ it? He felt a low flicker move within his chest whenever he thought of the shiny, unheard tapes. Excitement? He hardly took pleasure from the thought of listening to whatever the mysterious Cortez had taped during those six hours, though Scarecrow indisputably did. Perhaps he did derive some gratification out of the gaining of knowledge, especially knowledge that was difficult to find, but that was the way most epistemologists were. And all the answers he wanted were here. In his hands.

He glanced down at the tapes on his desk.

What was he waiting for?

* * *

"So."

Andrea rolled her eyes, wearily. The worst beginning of a sentence... "So what." She said, voice slightly tense.

Keith visibly winced. She sighed. Then she turned to him and put a hand on his arm, "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I've just had... a nasty week."

"Anything I can help with?" he asked, softly.

She sighed again. Then she tried to explain. "I had a patient. Who... brought things a little close to home. I freaked out. But then I found out... that he did it on purpose."

He frowned, "What d'you mean?"

"He... knew things. About me. About... Gavin."

"_What_?" he breathed, shaking his head in confusion, "But... _how_?"

She let out a long breath, "I said something. I _must_ have said something. He picked up on it somehow. He's..." she broke off, battling with the horrifying idea in her head, "He's a genius. He's a goddamned genius."

"Who... who was it?"

"No." She said, firmly, abruptly, "You know I can't go there, Keith."

He nodded, contritely, "Okay... So... what did you go to him for?"

She hesitated, "I..." God, what _had_ she gone there for? Any conversation she had with the Joker before his little 'nostalgia' session was a strange blur. She had gone to talk about Rebecca, she knew that much, but apart from that... the story had blind-sighted her.

_**Rebecca.**_ She reminded herself, firmly, _You were there for __**Rebecca**__. You couldn't get any answers out of Crane, or that receptionist bitch, so you went to him._

But what questions had she needed answering? Did she know? Had she ever known?

What did she really suspect her boss of doing?

She realised Keith was still staring at her, so she shook her head, "I was concerned about another patient."

"And... you didn't just go to her doctor?"

She shook her head again, impatiently, "Of course I did. He wouldn't see me."

"Why?"

She sighed, "I don't know."

_And that's what you want to find out._

That was it. That was her question. If everything was okay, and nothing was wrong... why was Crane acting like he had something to hide?

"_Okay_..." her husband was looking at her in that calm, soothing way that drove her insane purely because she herself saved it for mental cases, "So... did he help?"

"No." She replied, automatically, "Not at all."

He raised an eyebrow, and her inner madman wanted to rip it off his face, "You sure?"

"Yes of course I'm -"

Andrea stopped. She thought for a moment.

_Before the story. Think before the story. Before he freaked you out - on __**purpose**__. He freaked you out on __**purpose**__. Why? Something he said?_

Something he wanted her to _forget_, perhaps?

"I..." she paused for a moment, eyes locked on the dining room table, thinking intensely. Then she looked up at him.

The tape. The recording. The recorder hidden in the top right inside pocket of her fitted suit jacket.

The USB pen now placed on Tracy's desk.

"No. I'm _not_ sure." She paused for a moment, looking at him. Then she shook her head, "I need to get back to Arkham. Now."

* * *

Crane sat in his chair. He was, for lack of a better word, stunned. He had only listened to two tapes so far, but was already through nearly a whole notebook of scrawled shorthand. So much information, so many questions answered... it was insane he had not done this before. The 'Hallelujah' query had soon been figured out - it was the song on the radio in the car, the one she herself had led him to change it to, as the price of her company.

His act had been perfect, completely flawless. The story of the younger brother needing a high school place was inspired, immediately setting him as both a concerned bystander and a lost tourist - neither of which would be seen even remotely as a threat. He was polite, but lightly mocking; not too bright, not too ignorant, a typical, sports-loving male and a concerned, caring family member. The easy awkwardness, the humour, showing concern at her wellbeing walking in the freezing snow, but playing it off as a joke...

It was genius.

The tapes continued on after their meeting, of course, but Crane had little interest for the ignorant barking of the common criminals Cortez had been working with for God knows what reason. He had fast-forwarded a little, taking care not to go so far as to miss any input from his little experiment, who had chosen for the first ten minutes or so of the second side of tape one to maintain complete radio silence.

Now he rewound to that part, the part where she was silent, where she had held it together, where she had completely kept her cool. There must have been some reason for it, even if it was just that she hadn't fully comprehended her situation yet, or that she was in shock.

Voices were speaking rapidly in Italian, marking the Mafiosi out as one of many different groups of gangsters - there were plenty of the same sort of gangs here in Gotham. Crane's Italian was not the best it could have been, but he did have a vague understanding. He set it to play, and listened carefully.

"_Delgadil, cosa sta succedendo__?"_ - The first was asking another what was happening, how they were doing. Someone called 'Delgadil', possibly a fake name, perhaps not.

"_Siamo nei tempi previsti__."_ - They were on time, making good time, or on schedule. They had a schedule? They had actually _scheduled_ this?

"_Bene. Bene. Hai visto lui__?"_ - Good. Have you seen him? Seen who, the father?

"_No."_

"_Va bene. La ragazza? Ragazza __**grazios**__**a**__... You're... __**Rebecca**__, right?"_

Crane paused the tape again. 'Ragazza' he was pretty sure meant 'girl', but 'graziosa' he'd have to look up. By the sound of it, he had just noticed her presence. So... perhaps the reason for her silence was because they hadn't paid her any attention at the time. They were busy looking for the father. _Dean Wells_... Cortez hadn't explained why his mob colleagues were so interested him, said it wasn't important. Crane was inclined to agree. One dead father wasn't what concerned him here, it was the _girl_.

His phone rang, and he suppressed the desire to curse. Instead, he clicked it onto speaker, deftly, "Crane."

"Doctor Crane, you have someone waiting for you in reception."

"Who is it?"

"Nurse Werner from Trenton Psych, doctor."

Crane smiled, grimly, "Good. Send her in."

* * *

Tracy was surprised to see Andrea again so soon, especially seeing as she wasn't actually even supposed to be _in_ on Mondays. The doctor quelled her confusion with an easy smile, and a quick, smooth apology at the hour.

"It's alright, I've got time," she replied, when really she had been about thirty seconds away from getting out the door, "What's up?"

"I just realised I didn't take a copy of that recording of the Joker session. You still got it on you?"

She hesitated. The 'J' word had come out again. As soon as the word had come out of her mouth, despite her voice still being completely easy and pleasant, chills had gone up Tracy's spine.

The recording. She had listened to it again last night, after knocking back a slightly stiff martini to try and quell her nerves. The first time had been hell warmed up. The second had been just plain hell. An improvement, but still not putting the experience up in her top ten.

She had always known her patient to be a manipulator. A sick, perverse manipulator, hell-bent on twisting innocent people around his fingers and then crushing them.

And here she was, unbreakable Andrea, standing there with that small, polite smile, always so steadfast, so resilient, but with that old, old scar on her face, a scar that could only have come from a deep, incised wound, stitched after its time, so high up on her forehead that Tracy had often overlooked it, and, when she _had_ noticed it, had never looked at it with anything other than curiosity.

Now when she saw it, she saw more. She saw possibilities. And it made her sick.

Tracy averted her eyes, looking at the floor, giving a low sigh, "Andy..."

The smallest frown moved across the doctor's face. Then realisation settled over her. She paused for a moment, and then leaned back against the desk, "You've listened to it." Tracy stayed silent, but Andy knew the truth, and she shook her head, "Look, I know what happened. He affected me and I know it. So I won't let it happen again."

"Why didn't you tell me about this." She asked, quietly.

"Because it was none of your business." Typically Andrea, she managed to make this sound not as an insult, but as a mere stating of fact.

Tracy sighed again, "I didn't _need_ to know it, Andy, I didn't _have_ to know it, and it was damned sure _wasn't_ any of my business... but didn't you think that I might have _wanted_ to know?"

"No." she replied, simply, "Because you _wouldn't_ have wanted to know. You _don't_ want to know, even now. You want to put it away, as I did. So let's do that. I need the recording, please."

Tracy paused for a moment, feeling her heart beating hard in her chest, "I'll give it to you, if... if you'll answer me one question."

Andy immediately stiffened a little, "Tracy -"

"Just one, and not, not about that." She clarified, quickly, "Not about... what happened in there. With the Joker, I mean."

The elder doctor paused for what seemed like a long time. "Alright. Ask it."

Tracy drew a breath, mentally preparing herself, "Andy... who is Rebecca?"

There was a long pause. "Sorry?"

"Rebecca." She looked up at her, and, seeing the almost _uneasy_ expression passing over her face, immediately took a step closer towards her, "Andy. Who _is_ she?"

She stayed quiet for a moment. Then she shook her head, "Wells. Wells, Rebecca Lauren."

"Oh, Christ." Tracy breathed, shaking her head in horror, "You're not looking into _that_, are you?"

At that, Andy's expression changed. She looked at her, sharply, her eyes quickly moving over her face, as if searching for something that, as a shrink, she must have already guessed was there. "You _know_." she said, finally, looking at her in a mixture of shock and the beginnings of anger, "God, you... you actually _know_, _don't_ you? You know what Warrick's doing, don't you."

"I've... I've heard the rumours." She corrected, quietly, "We _all_ have." Andrea just stared at her, and she shook her head, "Andy, you told me you needed a favour, and I let you, no questions asked. But if you're going up against Crane -"

"Who said I was going up against Crane?" she asked, sharply.

"Just..." she stopped, sighed, shook her head, and started again: "We all know something's not quite right here. The patients. Warrick and his lot. The absences. Crane. But we stick together. We're a team, remember? A family."

"You're saying Warrick shouldn't be punished for what he did." Andy said, a most definite hint of coldness in her voice now, "For what he's _doing_."

Tracy immediately backtracked, "_No_. No, of _course_ not. I'm saying that... we need to keep this within Arkham. Tell Crane, gather your evidence, and he can lead a full internal inquiry. We _have to stick together_."

At this, her friend actually let loose a low growl of frustration, "That's _crap_, Tracy, and you _know_ it! All this _'hospital solidarity'_ shit is just a damned screen!"

"A screen for _what_?"

"_A screen to hide what these people are __**doing**_! What _Warrick_ is doing!"

"Just what exactly are you accusing him of?" she asked, incredulously, "And please think very carefully before you _answer_ that."

Andy looked at her, completely straight. "Assault. GBH. Torture. Rape. _Attempted_ rape. Murder. Manslau-"

There Tracy _had_ to interrupt. "_What_ are you _talking_ about?" she asked, astonished and absolutely gobsmacked.

"This has been going on for years, Tracy. _Years_. And it's all been covered up."

"Andrea, _listen_ to yourself!" she tried to take her fellow doctor's hand, but she wrenched it away, "The, the only thing Warrick is guilty of is, is, is... damned _misconduct_!"

"_Misconduct_." Fire and venom and utter, utter disgust boiled in her voice, as she practically _spat_ out the word, repeating it the way some people said 'paedophile', "That's _one_ way of putting it, I suppose." There were a few seconds of ferocious silence, and then she shook her head, "And this... _misconduct_... he'll get away with it."

"He won't."

"Yes he will, he'll get away with it. He'll get away... with torturing my patient."

"She's not your patient."

"_Tracy_." She said, immediately, her voice a growl of warning.

Tracy backed off, holding up her hands, immediately realising what she had said wrong: "Not that that matters, of course. But... it's not _proven_, _any_ of it."

Andrea shook her head, darkly, "Oh, it's been proven. _Many_ times. It's just been covered up." She turned her back, motioning to the room around her, passion boiling from her very being, "This place... is _rotten_ to the _core_. And I _will not_ be part of it." she turned back again, furiously, "Do you hear me? I _won't_."

Tracy hesitated for a moment, "Andy. Andy, listen to yourself. Please. Please, _please_, _listen_ to yourself."

Andrea looked at her for a second. Then she shook her head, "Alright." She took in a long, deep breath, shaking her head again, "Alright, Tracy. I'm calm. I'm collected. But I'm _right_. I _know_ I'm right."

"Andy." Tracy said again, looking at her, hesitantly, "When was the last time you took a holiday?"

Her anger quickly flared again as she shook her head, disgustedly, "Oh, Tracy, don't -"

"It's Christmas." She interrupted, firmly, "You should be spending it with your family, not holed up in here going through things that are better left alone."

Tracy knew straight away that she had worded that wrong. Andrea's face instantly turned cold, and her eyes closed down, not allowing an ounce of emotion through.

"The USB pen, Tracy." She said, her voice completely and utterly emotionless.

Tracy sighed. She knew she would never get through to her now. She felt her heart sinking as she turned, opening the drawer under her desk and taking out the pen she had given her, slowly. She held it out, and, as Andrea took hold of it, she gave it up straight away. The doctor immediately placed it away in an inside pocket, and then glanced at her. She paused, and then nodded, stiffly, and turned towards the door.

"Be careful, Andrea." Tracy said, quietly.

She glanced back at her, her face cold. "I _am_. _Tracy_."


	31. Chapter 31: Deliver Us From Evil

**Chapter 31: ****Deliver Us From Evil**

"Nurse Werner," Crane said, softly, trying hard to keep the biting distaste out of his voice, "This is most irregular."

"I booked an appointment, didn't I?" she replied, coolly, obviously making no effort at manners herself.

"That you did. I assume you wish to discuss Miss Wells...? Please, take a seat."

Werner declined with a firm, albeit civil, wave of her hand, instead choosing to settle herself back against the wall, arms crossed over her chest.

Crane paused for a moment, his eyes flittering over her, indifferently, and then turned to his desk, settling down in his chair, "Now. What can I do for you?"

"I want to see Rebecca Lauren's case notes." The nurse replied, straightforward and to the point.

He raised an eyebrow, "I'm afraid that's not possible. Patient confidentiality."

"I think we both know that patient confidentiality applies to those that would harm the patient. You know I'm not going to harm her."

"Is that right?" he asked, as candidly as her, "I seem to believe your last meeting showing differently."

A little more frost entered the woman's eyes at the mention of what was apparently still a painful subject, "She's a paranoid schizophrenic. She has episodes. I don't hold it against her, and she doesn't hold it against me."

"Is that right." She didn't answer, and he just looked at her for a moment. Scarecrow was growling once again from his pit inside their head, and Crane took a second to block him out before speaking again, "What exactly is it you believe you can offer her that she does not have here, Nurse Werner?"

"Security." She replied, promptly.

"Security? Arkham is the most secure hospital in all of New Jersey."

"Not that sort of security."

"Then _what_ sort."

She cocked an eyebrow, coolly, "If you prefer, let's use the word _refuge_."

"_Refuge_." He repeated, thoughtfully, "Interesting choice."

"Rebecca hates Gotham. She _always_ hated it. Every centimetre of it, it scared her. She told me that Dean had taken her round and the only good thing she could say about it was that it had a nice cathedral. Even the _thought_ of the Narrows terrified her."

"Then this is surely the best place for her," he replied, smoothly, "Considering it is probably the only place in Gotham where you _can't_ see the Narrows. Because you're right on top of it."

Werner looked at him for a moment. "I want to see the results of your physical examination."

He nodded, "Ah, so _that's_ what this is about... Professional jealousy?"

The nurse visibly gritted her teeth, "It's _about_ a young girl who needs _help_ - _**not**_ _assessment_."

"And are they not the same thing?" she fell silent again, just looking at him. Crane got to his feet. It was time to end this, before the foolish woman got in deeper than she had anticipated. "I apologise, Nurse Werner, I have a very important meeting in..." he glanced at his watch, not checking the time, "seven minutes thirty-nine seconds, I'm afraid our talk will have to be postponed."

He moved swiftly towards the door, opening it easily before beginning to go through first.

"I am going to see her."

He stopped. He looked back at her.

She looked straight at him. "I've put in an official visitor's form. I _am_ going to see her." There was a moment of silence. She nodded at the door, coolly, "I thought you had a meeting."

Crane paused for a moment. Then a small, lopsided smile graced his lips, and he turned fully towards her, "They can wait." He just looked at her for a bit, the strange smile still present, "Why would you think she wants to see you?"

"It's been almost nine weeks... and I haven't heard a word. That's not like her. I want to see her, Doctor Crane. I'm not taking no for an answer."

"She hates you." He said, pointedly, "She told you to get away from her, to... 'get the fuck out'."

"She didn't mean it." Werner replied, immediately, "I _know_ she didn't mean it."

"_How_." He pressed, with an ounce of irritation.

She looked at him, raising her eyebrows, "Because I know her."

* * *

Andrea Nowell shook her head, frustrated, and pushed her protesting husband out of the room, easily flicking the as of yet unused bolt across the door, giving herself some privacy. Keith tried the handle once or twice after that, and then seemed to realise she needed some time alone, and retreated. Good man. She knew she had married him for a reason...

The computer took an infuriatingly long time to load, and, as soon as she heard the opening trill of her Windows XP, she pushed the USB into place, waiting impatiently as the thing went through its initial programs before finally opening up the damned 'Open With' bar.

It was barely three minutes between booting the computer and playing the file, but it felt like an age.

"_Doctor Nowell?"  
_"_Yes?"  
_"_He's ready."_

Andrea settled, frozen in her place, listening intently. She had no idea what for. She listened to the silence, punctuated by light rustling as the Dictaphone in her jacket pocket brushed against the lining. She could remember that walk. It passed by with only a few seconds on the tape. She remembered walking up to his bedside, slowly, seeing the monster within it, wondering at how... _ordinary_ he looked. How... _normal_.

"_Good morning."  
_"_Good __**morn**__ing... __**You're**__ not Teri."  
_"_Teri?"  
_"_Doctor __**Wei**__-gel... my shrink."_

She fast-forwarded past this bit. She couldn't care less about the parts at the beginning, about Tracy and playboys and doctors and fetishes - that was all pretence. _Foreplay_, as Gavin would have called it. She wanted the bit after, the bit when the nurse had left the room, where she was completely able to say what she meant, not having to dance around the point just in case the kid wasn't quite as thickheaded as he appeared.

"_-broken ribs."_

She paused. Wound back.

"_-__**sympathy**__? Whatever next, __**Doctor Nowell**__, __**con-**__**cern**__?"  
_"_Yes, it was sympathy. I suppose. You've sustained broken ribs. I know from experience broken ribs are painful, __**very**__ painful."  
_"_Beats the monotony."  
_"_So you're bored too."  
_"_All dressed up with nothin' to do... __**doc**__. So, uh... were you involved with a spirited game of rugby with the orderlies __**too**__?"  
_"_Sorry?"  
_"_Broken ribs. You said you had broken ribs."  
_"_Oh. No, I... Well..."_

Andrea closed her eyes at her own stupidity. She'd hesitated. God, she'd hesitated, and that was all he had needed. That, and the long-lost ability to listen.

"_That's... neither here nor there."  
_"_Mmm... Speaking of things that are neither here nor there, that's a __**gorgeous**__ accent you've got there. What is it, West Virginia?"  
_"_More or less. Lynchburg."  
_"_Lynchburg? Aint that, uh, Quakersville?"  
_"_Quakersville?"  
_"_Y'know. Quakers. Where the early Quaker settlers lived. Quakersville."  
_"_I... I honestly don't know. I didn't live there for long."  
_"_And they say education is dead... Why d'ya leave?"  
_"_We're not here to talk about me, Joker, we're here to talk about someone else."  
_"_Who?"  
_"_Those marks on your face. The scratches. Where did you get them from?"  
_"_What, these? Stray cat. You guys really need to tighten up the security in here."  
_"_Really? Tom or queen?"_

Rebecca. She paused again, flicked past. She knew about Rebecca. He was just playing with her here, playing with his little _'Twitch'_.

She caught a clip of his French as she passed by, and frowned a little. _Belle et cassable, une femme parfaite._ She'd ran a Google Translate on that, and, though it wasn't the most _reliable_ of sources, she had at least - after many typos and retries - come out with something that vaguely made sense: Beautiful and breakable, a perfect woman.

This man was sick.

But she couldn't focus on that. She had to keep going. She flicked past, impatiently. What had he said, where was it?

"_You see, I had this friend -"_

_No_. She stopped it, quickly, taking in a short, steadying breath. Too far. She wound it back, started again.

Just a question answered - pretty little Red - rewarded for your efforts... _belle et cassa-_ ...lieve me if I told you. I'm a paranoid schizophrenic, remember?

"_She said that?"  
_"_The Brothers Grim arranged that little visit 'cause they thought it'd scare some sense into her. And, y'know what's funny? Johnny-boy __**let**__ 'em."  
_"_But... what do you mean? But... but he wasn't there. He didn't know. He __**couldn't**__ have known. Could he?"_

The Joker started talking again, and Andrea flicked off the recording, impatiently, winding it back again.

"_That's confidential."  
_"_You don't __**know**__, __**do**__ you."  
_"_No. I don't think __**any**__one does."  
_"_**Johnny**__-boy does."  
_"_What are you talking about."  
_"'_You wouldn't believe me if I told you. I'm a paranoid schizophrenic, remember?'"  
_"_She said that?"  
_"_The Brothers Grim arranged that little visit 'cause they thought it'd scare some sense into her. And, y'know what's funny? Johnny-boy __**let**__ 'em."_

She paused the tape -boy. Johnny-boy. It could only be one person. She'd thought so back then, and she still thought so now.

Jonathan Crane.

Doctor Crane. So what was the Joker saying? What was he implying? Firstly that Crane knew what had happened to Rebecca all those years ago, but he couldn't have been directly involved in that, could he? That was nearly two years ago, and over a hundred miles away, there was no chance.

Secondly... that he knew about Warrick.

Andrea shifted in her seat, uneasily. She had been working in Arkham for five years, and, though she had often been a little wary of Crane - _cautious_, perhaps - she had never had cause to suspect him of something like this. Four months ago she wouldn't even be _considering_ this. But ever since little Rebecca had step foot in this place something had been different. _He_ had been different. Was there reason to that? Or was it just the usual stress of the hospital over Christmas coupled with the strain of cohabiting with Gotham's most dangerous psychopath?

Andrea paused for a moment, thinking furiously quickly. If she was going to go with what her gut was telling her... what she was actually considering accusing him of... she'd have to do it properly. But she had nothing. Just the word of a lunatic. Would this recording stand up in court? Would she be able to find proof that he had allowed harm to be caused to one of his patients? Would Crane admit it? And why the _hell_ were all the questions going through her head like she was actually _considering_ them? What was _wrong_ with her? How much value could she give to a vague implication by a madman? Did she truly believe the maniac Joker over her own boss?

_Dear God, you are one sick bitch,_ she told herself, disgustedly, _Is it the workload? Concern for Rebecca? __**Really**__? Or are you just goddamned insane?_

Or was something going on here. Maybe... maybe he was right.

Andrea got to her feet, slowly, wincing as her back violently objected to the movement. She sighed, wearily. All this... it was bringing her down. Mentally. Physically. Emotionally. She paused, thinking about her reaction to Tracy. And _socially_. Perhaps she had been too harsh. She'd just... _snapped_. But how could she _say_ that, 'the only thing Warrick is guilty of is _misconduct_', it was _bullshit_! Even at her utmost state of objectivity it was complete crap.

Why couldn't _she_?

Because she was scared. It was obvious, wasn't it? The look on her face... She was scared of how she was acting, yes. But it was more than that. It was more like... she was afraid of what she might find.

Andrea paused, eyes fixed on the grain of her wooden desk. What would she achieve going up against Doctor Jonathan Crane? She could ruin her career, get herself sacked, and over... over _what_? Stress? Unsubstantiated suspicions? _Nothing_. That was the answer. Nothing. The word of a manipulative sociopath.

But there was still that feeling... that horrible, niggling feeling... one that could be expressed in the simplest of questions.

What if he was right?

* * *

"Have you any phobias, Nurse Werner?"

Werner raised an eyebrow at the abrupt question, "What does that have to do with anything?"

"_Everything_." Crane corrected, firmly, "Miss Wells has fear attacking her body every second of every day."

"You think I don't know that?" she replied, stiffly.

"No. I think you don't _understand_ that."

She paused for a moment, gauging his meaning behind the statement. Then she shook her head, wearily, "And that's why you want to know if I have any phobias. To see whether I'm _qualified_ to be dealing with a phobic patient."

He nodded, simply, "Precisely. Well? _Do_ you?"

"Have any phobias?" she shrugged, casually, "I'm actually quite hydrophobic, myself. You know, a fear of drowning?"

"I know what hydrophobia is." He paused for a second, watching her, and, for less than a second, his eyes appeared much darker, "Not even a challenge..."

She frowned, looking at him, "Excuse me?"

Crane shook his head, "Imagine that fear every moment of your being. Imagine that fear to such an intensity you cannot figure out what is real or not. Imagine that even if you _could_ figure out the difference, no-one believes you any more."

"I know what she is going through."

"Do you? Do you _really_?"

"Yes." she said, simply, "And I know what she's going through is tough. I know there are going to be a lot more moments like back in that room. But I was her nurse for over a year, and I didn't back out then, not even when the visual hallucinations started coming, not even after she dislocated Nurse Hendrick's shoulder." She paused, and then shook her head, feeling the tightening in her heart that she always got when she started speaking about Rebecca, whenever her _name_ was mentioned, even, "I know she's scared. And angry. And rightfully so, she had just been thrown into another institution without even a familiar face, _yet_ again. And I also know in _her_ opinion she's reacting perfectly _rationally_ to these situations she thinks she's in."

"She _is_ in," he corrected, swiftly, "The mind leads the body."

"Situations that she _is_ in, then," she replied, as patiently as she could, "But she needs stability. She needs familiarity. Whatever evil she is facing, I can help her. Because I know her. I know her fear." She leant towards him, almost desperate for him to see her sincerity, "_I understand_, Doctor Crane."

Crane looked at her for a very long time. "I don't think you do. Not yet."

She frowned, watching the low light flicker over his handsome face, making his eyes appear darker again, "What are you talking about?"

The doctor paused for a moment, watching her. Then he shook his head, "Would you like to see my mask?" he asked, calmly.


	32. Chapter 32: Peace on Earth

**Chapter 32: Peace on Earth**

_Friday, December 25__th__._

Another day, another dickhead with a tray. Though Rebecca detested their daily visits with whatever the hell was on her plate nowadays, she valued the time check. It helped her focus, helped her feel the turn of the days in this hell.

He put the tray down on the edge of her bed.

She looked at it. Then back up at him.

_Huh_?

The young nurse gave a low sigh of frustration. He didn't have to deal with her often, and still wasn't used to her huge mood swings. And, true, sometimes she looked at that hard, metal tray and had no idea what the bloody hell it was doing there and what it was for, but, to be completely honest, today...

Today she just felt like fucking with him.

"Eat." The boy said, his voice already testy.

Eyes to the food. Then back again.

"_Eat_," he repeated, a little more firmly, moving over to her and picking up the tray before settling down, placing it on his lap, "You've got to eat. You'll get ill."

And this she actually gave a small, bemused smile.

_I'll get ill, will I? More ill than I am already, right? And d'you wanna just explain to me how that's even physically possible?_

She stayed silent, and he sighed again. He was a small little thing. Maybe even shorter than her. Her eyes shifted and blurred over his features, but they didn't really matter to her. For once, she appreciated Arkham's choice. This boy could hardly have been twenty-three, if a day. Fresh out of medschool, straight into The Elizabeth Arkham Asylum for the Criminally Insane.

He had poor luck to get lumbered with a patient like her.

He held the spoon out to her, filled with something she couldn't even guess at, putting it on her bottom lip like she was a child, "Come on. Open up."

Maybe he thought she was catatonic.

_Bless him and his stunted medical knowledge, he really is a dear, isn't he?_

**Where's the other guy?**

Rebecca frowned a little at this. She pushed the spoon away from her mouth, distractedly, and moved her eyes back to the floor.

**You know who I mean. **Eve said, persistently, **The one **_**Crane**_** usually sends. That fucking giant bastard. What, he on holiday or something?**

The boy was shaking her arm. Okay, so he _really_ thought she was catatonic. She brushed him off again, impatiently, with a small, muted, "Stop."

He sighed again. Then something drew his attention, and he turned, getting to his feet, leaving the tray on the bed, "Hello?"

She glanced at him, a little dazedly. _Some_thing had caught his attention, what was it? Banging? Knocking? Low thuds? Those were the ones that usually got her. They sounded so alike to the everyday voices that she usually couldn't tell the difference.

There was a voice by the door. Feminine. The boy replied, but she'd stopped listening. She was examining the tray on the bed. She prodded the mush on the plate, and it shivered in response. She backed as far away as possible, eyes fixed on the plate. If it moved again, she would catch it.

Someone was coming into the room.

Her eyes moved up, quickly - not to check the person behind it, more to check the bolt was in place - and then she froze in her spot.

* * *

"_Whoa_, _you_ look _rough_, Red." Ky said, looking her up and down, critically, "What the hell happened?"

Ray-Ray moved straight into the room, sitting down beside her and fixing her with a worried look, "Have you not been eatin'? You look kinda pale."

"What you doin' down here anyways, babe? Finally decided to test that killa instinct of yours, hey?"

She looked at the third for a moment. "Caden."

He smirked and winked, "That's me, babe."

"Ky. Jumper. Ray-Ray."

"Yeah?" the girl replied, still looking concerned, "What's up, darling? You okay?"

She didn't reply, and Jumper put on his trademark frown, looking her over for a second. Then he shook his head, "Spaced out."

"Damn right," Caden agreed, immediately, "_Look_ at 'er. They got her on so many meds she can barely _see_."

Rebecca looked at them. Then she shook her head, "Quite the opposite, in fact."

"Can ya hear us, Red?"

"Think so." She paused, just looking, and then moved her gaze.

Doctor Nowell stood by the door, giving her that small, encouraging smile that she did so well, "It's Christmas day. Thought you could use some company. Merry Christmas."

"You... you brought them here."

"Yes."

She looked at her. "You aren't afraid I'll go schizo? Kill them all? That's why I'm down here, isn't it? Disruptive, violent, aggressive behaviour? You're not afraid?"

Andrea shook her head, "Nope." She replied, simply, "'Cause I've got your medication. Right here."

Rebecca looked at the tablets in her hand. "Medication?"

"Clozapine. Twenty-four point five milligrams. That's right, yeah?"

She paused again. "Clozapine."

Andrea looked at her. Then she moved further into the room, crouching down a little in front of her, like she had done that first day, that day with the fight, the day she had run. "Rebecca." She said, softly. Her voice sounded the same. "You trust me, don't you?"

It was hard trusting someone who worked for that monster.

**But what's the worse they could do?**

She hesitated, and then took the pills from her hand, slowly. Andrea passed her a glass of water, and she paused for a long long time, before uncertainly taking down the tablets.

She almost gagged at the taste. She wanted to spit them out, but she didn't, quickly following them with a long glug of the water.

"Well done, Red." Ray-Ray said, her voice still a little hesitant, "That should make you feel better, yeah?"

Her eyes were on Andrea's. "Yeah. Yeah, they should." She paused for a moment again, and then looked back to the others, "Why are you here?"

Ky cocked an eyebrow, "It's the twenty-fifth. Y'know, Christmas?"

She shook her head, "Not a fan."

"Huh? Why not?"

She didn't reply. Ray-Ray's foot was tapping reflexively against the floor, her expression still nervous.

She looked at the others. They all seemed uncertain, even Caden.

"What." She asked, finally.

"You just..." the girl hesitated, glancing at her friends. Then she shook her head, "You just... seem a little different, that's all. You're so pale."

"Yeah, you are." The boy glanced down at her untouched plate on the tray, "You not eatin', Red?"

She shrugged, "I ate last week."

"Well. Good thing it's only Friday, right?"

"It's Friday?"

"Yep. All day."

"Huh."

Ky sighed. Jumper glanced at him, and then shook his head, burying around in his pocket for a moment before pulling out a small tin. He threw it to her, and Rebecca was quite surprised when she caught it. "Here. Eat it."

She examined the blank can, cautiously, "What is it?"

"Turkey from a tin. Completely processed; as synthetic and fake and cafeteria-like as it is physically possible to be." He shot her a wry smile, handing her a fork, "You should love it."

"Practically caviar." Ray-Ray chirruped, starting to regain her usual grin.

"What's the appeal of eating raw fish eggs anyway?" Ky asked, frowning.

"Well, that's Europeans for ya."

Andrea got to her feet, moving towards the door, "I'll give you lot some time. I'll be right outside."

Rebecca's eyes locked onto hers, quickly.

"I'll be right outside." She repeated, calmly, giving her a small smile again. Then she left, making sure the bolt was firmly in place after doing so.

"So, Red." Ky said, breaking the momentary silence, "You're on hunger strike just to piss them off? Not the cleverest idea you've ever had, honey."

"I'm not on hunger strike. I just don't feel like eating."

Jumper cocked an eyebrow, "Mmm, what, they decide to give you _real_ food, or something?"

"I dunno what they give me. I dunno what it is. I can't eat it, they might've..." she hesitated, well aware that they were all watching her, "There might..." she paused again, and then shook her head, "There might be something in it." she finished, lamely.

Ky looked at her for a second, "Hmm. Well. There's nothing in _that_, I _promise_ you. Completely artificial, no ingredients in there."

He was motioning towards the can in her hand again. She paused, examining it for a moment. Then she shook her head, took the fork, and took down one huge mouthful.

The boy smiled, "There's a girl. Good?"

She nodded, halfway chewing the processed, strangely iron-tasting meat, "_Damn_ good."

Ky and the girl laughed, obviously still amused by her complete lack of taste. Then Caden leant forwards, "So. Christmas day. Good little girl like you. Why you down here pissin' off nurses instead of in the visitors' lounge seein' your family?"

Rebecca looked at him for a second. She felt her heart start to flutter in her chest, but the Clozapine and the vaguely relaxed atmosphere kept it from going over eighty.

"Why aren't _you_?" she replied, slowly, cautiously.

He shrugged, casually, "Aint got one. But you must have, right?"

"Why d'you make the assumption?"

"Dunno. You just... seem the type. Well?"

She paused for a second, thinking it through, "Why d'you wanna know?"

He shook his head, almost frustratedly, "Aw, come off it, Red. I'm bloody interested. If ya dad's a psycho then I gotta decide whether it's worth losing a hand or two to see what ya've got under that vest of yours."

She cocked an eyebrow, "Nice."

"Always. So? What're the folks like?"

She paused again. Eve's voice was still present in her mind but it was... quieter. Muted, like she was hearing her below water.

Rebecca shook her head, "Dean Wells. June fifth, 1964. Born in Reading, Pennsylvania. Moved to Coopersburg when he married. My mother was a Roman Catholic from Ireland. Alana O'Galvin. They met while she was on holiday."

Ky immediately raised a sceptical eyebrow, "Uh, on holiday in _Pennsylvania_?"

She shook her head, a small, amused smile on her lips, "No, you moron. They'd both gone to Washington. She had gone to see the Basilica of the National Shrine of the Immaculate Conception. Dad was trying to see if he could cruise all Washington pubs in a week."

Caden gave a contented grin, "Perfect match."

"They met in a bar on Monroe Street Northeast. Apparently it was the worst either of them had ever been in, so they skipped out and got a takeaway instead. Then they went for a walk in the National Arboretum, and they traded numbers."

"Ohh, how _romantic_." Ray-Ray cooed, and Caden shot her an almost distasteful glance at the sugary response.

Rebecca privately agreed, though said nothing, "They got married a year later. A proper church wedding. She brought me up Catholic. He disapproved, but there was little he could do about it, really. She was... quite a presence."

"So what happened to her?"

She glanced at Jumper, almost surprised by his interjection, "My mother? She died."

He bowed his head a little, "I'm sorry."

"Don't be. It was a long time ago."

"And ya dad?" Ray-Ray asked, curiously.

"His work transferred him over to England." She replied, immediately, calmly, "He's in London now, I think. He can't be here that often, work's... hard."

"Yeah? When'd you last see him?"

"On my birthday. My twenty-first." She played with the fork in her tin, the memory vivid in her mind, "April sixteenth, I was still in Trenton. I wasn't expecting him, considering the amount of drugs they had me on I probably barely even knew what _day_ it was. He showed up with all these balloons, like I was a little kid. They let us walk in the grounds. I hadn't been out of the hospital for over half a year, it was... amazing."

Ray-Ray was smiling, settling herself back on the bed and crossing her legs underneath her like a child, "Wow. Did he get ya anything?"

She smiled, "Yeah. It was my twenty-first. It was kinda difficult, though. We weren't allowed alcohol in the hospital, so he brought me a shot of rum hidden in an asthma inhaler."

Caden shook his head, giving a short, surprised laugh, "_Shit_..."

She gave another slow smile, "It reacted with the tablets and gave me a raging headache the next morning, but it was worth it."

"Damn. You're one hell of a party-goer, Red. Your old man seems like quite the guy."

She paused. "Yeah. Yeah, he is."

"What does he do?" Ky asked, "Your father?"

She shook her head, "Oh, something in investing something-or-other. He's one of those people with a ridiculously long job title. He was always away a lot, even when I was a kid."

"A banker?"

"Nah. Businessman, in effect. He never acted like one, though. He was always a little..."

"_Where's papa then, honey? We got a coupla words we're gonna share with him. Where's your papa."_

"..._odd_. I didn't see much of him. He was kind, but quite distant." Then she looked up, smiling a little again, "But I always knew he cared."

"Sure ya did," Ray-Ray said, smiling brightly, "He's ya dad."

A ghost of a smile flittered over Rebecca's lips. Then she shook her head, "What about you? Mom, dad? Little sister?"

Here Ray-Ray hesitated. She glanced at Caden, who shot her a small, dry smile. Then she looked back, "They, uh... they died. Some time ago."

"I'm sorry."

Caden, oddly, laughed, "Don't be. She's the one that killed them."

* * *

Doctor Nowell paced the small corridor. She could hear voices talking behind the door, but didn't try to listen. This was her time, now. Rebecca's.

She had to think about what she was going to do. She had no proof - none at all - that Rebecca was being mistreated in any way. She was almost horrendously thin, but any lawyer worth their salt would easily be able to turn that on her own sporadic eating habits and that would be it. Case closed. She had to prove it. 'Beyond all reasonable doubt', in a court of law.

But what _was happening_? What was going on here? What did she think was happening to this girl? She had been so pale, so deathly, deathly pale, and the reaction she had had at seeing those pills - she was almost _surprised_. That was it, wasn't it? _Surprised_. How long had it been, then? How long since the last tablet? Were they really withholding her medicine?

Or was the girl's psychosis merely showing her things she wanted to see.

Andrea winced at the wording even in her head. _Wanted_ to see? Who would _want_ to see this? A schizophrenic, not on her medication. A patient, underfed and shivering in a tiny stone room.

_I can't stand this for much longer,_ she thought, viciously, _I __**can't**__. All this indecision, this damned lack of information, I'm a __**shrink**__, for Christ's sake! I __**do not like**__ being kept in the dark!_

A bang on the door ripped her from her thoughts. She glanced at it, and sighed. Time for a few questions...

* * *

Andrea waited until the four had disappeared from sight, up around the corner. She trusted them well enough to find their own way back to their rooms, and knew that, if they _were_ found, any other nurse would agree with her. The four were remarkably stable whilst with each other; none of them had had any sort of incident in years.

She paused for a moment, and then glanced back at Rebecca, "You're close to them, aren't you."

"Yes." the girl replied, softly.

She hesitated again, and then shook her head, "Why did you say goodbye like that?" They had all seemed so... _solemn_, even Caden. She had even let Ray-Ray give her a peck on the cheek, squeezing her hand, something which seemed so out of character it was untrue.

Rebecca gave a small, noncommittal shrug, "Might not see them again. Have to say bye. It's only polite. If it's the last time we're going to see each other."

"Well. It doesn't have to be." She said, soothingly.

"Yes it does." Andrea frowned at her, and the girl drew in a slow, deep breath, "I hate them."

She couldn't prevent a raised eyebrow, "Sorry?"

"I hate them." She repeated, her voice dull and quiet, "I hate every one of them. Whenever they're near I want... I want to... to tear their throats out. I want to hurt them."

The doctor shook her head, surprised, and, frankly, confused, "_Rebecca_, I -"

"They shouldn't come back here ever again." She interrupted, firmly, eyes fixed on hers, "Ever. _Ever_. And no-one should know they ever _were_ here. No-one should know. Okay?"

"Rebecca." She repeated, trying again, "You don't hate them."

"Yes I do. They need to stay away. For protection."

"Rebecca -"

"You're not _getting_ it, Nowell!" she was angry, suddenly angry, her voice the firmest she'd ever heard it, "They need to stay _away_! _Away_ from me! Is that clear? Is that understood?" she paused for a second, and then shook her head, "For their _own protection_."

Andrea hesitated. She listened to the girl's voice. She was sure. She knew what she was asking here. "Okay." She said, finally, "Okay, Rebecca. I hear you."

"Good." The girl looked relieved, nodding, distractedly, "Good. Thank you." Then she glanced up at her again, "You shouldn't be down here either. But... thank you."

Andrea looked at her for a long time. Something was flickering in her stomach, like butterflies, but this had nothing to do with nerves, or some teenage crush. "I wish I could help you." She said, finally.

Rebecca looked at her, giving a small, sad smile, "You can't. I'm sorry." She nodded towards the open door, "You have to go now."

She hesitated again. Then she nodded, "Okay. Goodbye, Rebecca."

"Goodbye Andrea."

"Merry Christmas."


	33. Chapter 33: Straightjackets

**Chapter 33: Straightjackets**

_Monday, December 28th._

"Stay..._still_!"

Rebecca kicked out with both feet, forcing one orderly off her, struggling hard with the binds holding her arms to her chest, yanking at the thick cotton straps that held her arms together.

Hands came down on her shoulders again, and, unbalanced, she fell back to the bed.

**Just _give_ me the damned tablets, I'll eat them on my fucking own just _give __them __to __me_!**

But no. With these orderlies it always had to be _screaming_ and _struggling_ and _noise_.

The water tablets were finally worked deep into her mouth, the same hand sealing itself over her mouth, another over her nose, forcing her to swallow.

They pulled away and she gasped, pulling in oxygen, and then gave an angry kick to the nearest knee, "Y'know, I dunno why you do that, I woulda taken the damned things _any_way!"

"Wells," a voice growled, promise running through his tone, "If you keep kicking we'll have to restrain your _legs __too_. You want that?"

Rebecca hesitated. She'd been in a posy vest before, back in Trenton after she'd busted that bitch's shoulder, one that left her lying on her front, arms secured underneath her and legs forced up at a right-angle by one long metal chain attached to her ankles and the straps on her back. She'd been in that thing for a whole day. She remembered squirming around in it for hours, desperately trying to get loose, hindered mightily by the fact that they'd attached her to the _bed_, _too_. It had not been pleasant.

She sighed, wearily, and shook her head, "_No_..."

"Good. Then sit still."

She sat still. The orderlies dragged her up a little, putting her back against the wall so she was sitting upright. Then the main one - _Annie __Wilkes_, as she'd decided to call him after his rather rude disinclination for introductions - pulled back a little, taking the all-too-familiar tray from the floor, bringing it up to her, "You gonna eat today?"

She looked at him, then at the filth on the plate. She looked back to him again, "No."

He sighed, frustratedly, as if she was being _unreasonable_. He nodded at the others, and they held her down again as the spoon was pushed forcefully against her mouth.

Rebecca could feel the inside of her lips bruise as they were crushed back against her teeth. She kept her jaw locked, knowing Wilkes would force her mouth open anyway, but unwilling to allow him to do so without a fight.

As predicted, the foul-tasting mush was in her mouth little less than thirty seconds later. Rebecca scolded herself. She should have been able to last longer than that.

Again the hand on her mouth, stopping her air, she had to swallow. Every day, day after day. She did. Good little dog, good little pet, taking down its medicine just as its owners commanded. Every single bloody day.

She was beginning to tire of this game.

Another spoonful. This time she swallowed a little, then, as soon as Nurse Wilkes had let go of her mouth, she spat the rest in his face.

She supposed she was lucky Wilkes was as he was. From almost any other orderly that move would have warranted a sharp slap across her cheek.

She ignored him as he cursed, pulling back, probably wiping the mush off his face. Hell. If _he_ didn't like it, why would _she_? Her insubordination was punished with a swift yank at the belts on her arms, tightening the straps until they started to hurt. Then he seemed to give up, turning away, leaving her where she was, propped up against the wall, hands tied to her stomach, utterly useless.

"Leave it there, we'll try again later."

_What, you think I'm gonna eat it on my own? My fucking arms are attached to my fucking chest, Wilkes!_

She didn't say that, of course. She wouldn't waste her energy on talking to him. Wilkes was moving away. It was a Monday, she thought. She knew what was going to happen next.

He was on a late shift tonight.

She wondered if little Annie knew just who he was passing her on to tonight. Perhaps not. After all, if she had spat in the face of almost any other orderly the move would have warranted at the very _least_ a sharp slap across her cheek.

They were leaving. She was still strapped into her restraints. She tugged a little on them, wondering if they were going to undo them before they left.

Apparently not.

* * *

It was perhaps another few hours before the ever-tenacious orderly finally dragged his ass into her little cell. Rebecca glanced up at him, well aware of her potent disadvantage in the form of this damned fucking suit pinning her arms down.

Warrick, however, did not seem to be in the mood for playing games. In fact, he appeared more _furious_ than playful. She chose not to listen to his inane barking; it was usually the same each time he came through. She was feeling strangely indifferent to his threats today. Ah well. She was sure he could gain his pleasure elsewhere.

But this time was a little different, in a strangely familiar way. His voice was threatening, but not overtly suggestive like the first few visits. It sounded much more like his _last_ visit, the one with Nurse Rodriguez, and -

"Well hello again, good-lookin'."

* * *

Rebecca glanced up, for the first time moderately interested, "Joker."

"That's me, honeybunch." The clown looked her over, critically, settling down, strangely, on the floor opposite her, "You _do_ look different without your makeup."

She raised an eyebrow, "Do I? Haven't got a mirror in here."

"You do. _Very_ different." He continued observing her for a moment, before shaking his head, "Y'know, I could, uh, put it on _for_ ya."

She gave a small smile, "No thanks. I doubt I would suit the Barnum look, actually." She also shook her head, conceding, "Anyway. It was confiscated. _Dangerous__property__act_." She gave a small, sardonic laugh, "As if I would stab someone with an _eyeliner_ or -" she stopped, glancing at the man in front of her. The Joker was watching with a mild curiosity, an avid attention. She finally remembered exactly who she was talking to, and shook her head, slowly, "Okay... bad example."

"Nah. Fan-_tas_-tic example. Trust me."

She looked at him for a moment before shaking her head again, "Anyway, even if I had it, gonna be quite the challenge stabbin' someone with my arms attached to my chest."

The Joker's eyes roamed over the straightjacket, approvingly, "Mmm, I'd noticed the new look. It suits you. What is it, uh, Prada?"

"I was thinking more Chanel, myself."

"Someone's got themselves a little fetish... Who d'you have to kill to get style like that?"

"No-one. Just gotta secure a little bruising to Crane's arrogant little face."

"_It's a fun little game, honey. But a strong psych only goes so far."_

She smirked at the memory, despite the connotations behind it. Then she shook her head, tugging at the straps again, "I don't even know why I'm _in_ this, I'm not a danger to anybody but him."

"And he aint here. Maybe they're, uh, scared you'll take it out a little more... _personally_?"

She glanced at him, "Self harm? Not my thing."

"Even after being in asylums for two years? Congratulations."

"Thanks."

"But you're still a little, uh, _unbalanced_, right? Why's that, I wonder?"

So he was back to this again. It didn't surprise her, though she had thought he'd at _least_ bring the subject in _subtly_. "I told you before, I don't want to talk about that."

"Why?"

"Do you really need to ask that?"

"I guess I do. Does Doc Crane know?"

She let out a low sigh, "_I __told __you_..."

"How about Doc Nowell?"

"_I __don__'__t __want_..."

"Your old doc? Back in Trenton?"

"_To __**talk **__about __it_."

He looked at her for a second, and, for a second, she thought she'd finally gotten through to him. Then he cocked his head to one side, "Is it somethin' about why your Warrick's constantly on yer case?"

She closed her eyes for a second, and sighed again, "I _don__'__t __want_ -"

"To talk about it, sure. But yes or no answers, that's not really talkin' bout it, is it?"

Rebecca looked at him. "You're asking a lot of questions."

"You're a paranoid schizo, _any_ amount of questions would seem like a lot to you." He returned, easily.

She shrugged, conceding, "Fair point."

He shifted in his place, scuttling towards her a little bit, "Okay, come on, just one. Just one little question, what harm could come of it? C'mon, I'm dyin' of curiosity, here."

"No." She replied, flatly.

He continued, undeterred: "How about an easy one? When did it happen."

Rebecca decided it was easier to concentrate on the drawl of his voice than the question, especially with the misty, murky images it brought up.

"How long ago. C'mon, you can tell me that, right?"

"_Rebecca Wells?"  
_"_Yes sir."  
_"_Rebecca... **Lauren**?"_

"I'm assumin' it was just before you got committed, _right_?"

Snow and cold and dark, so dark. It was late, still snowing, not as heavily as it had been that morning, but enough for her to really consider giving up on her traditional evening walk. Guilt was present. She was in white, matching coat, scarf, gloves, hat.

New Year's Eve.

"Anniversary's soon," she murmured, automatically, unaware of any reason for doing so other than vocalising the easier bit to remember, "_S__econd_ anniversary. Three days. December thirty-first. New Year's Eve. Three days."

He perked up a little, watching her, closely, "Yeah? Who's the lucky fella? I don't remember seein' a ring."

"Not that kind of anniversary."

"Oh? Then _what_ kind."

She stayed silent for a long time. Then she looked at him, "Why are you here?"

He settled back against the wall, "_Well_, sweets, seeing as I fu-_reaked_ you out the _last_ time, I'm a-_ssuming_ they're hopin' I'm gonna do it again." Then he gave a small, one-shouldered shrug, "Plus, I, uh... had a little encounter with their friend _Sam_ a few weeks back. They, uh... didn't take it well..."

But Rebecca shook her head, "No. I don't mean why did they _put_ you here. I meant why are you _still_ here."

The Joker looked at her. "You gonna elaborate on that, or, uh, just leave me hangin'?"

"Why are you still here. In Arkham. Why haven't you escaped."

At that he smirked, shaking his head, glancing around him, "Well. It's a nice enough place to take a holiday, dontcha think?"

"Stop it. Answer me properly."

He cocked an eyebrow, as if surprised at her sudden firmness, "I guess you don't know me so well after _all_... I'm a wild dog, darlin'. I don't come on a call." Then he smirked again, "Though I suppose that depends which way I'll be comin'."

Even with his added wink, it still took Rebecca a moment. Then she shook her head, "You're obscene."

"Glad ya finally noticed."

"And you're trying to divert my question." Stillness emanated through Rebecca's brain. This was strange, this was different. But it was also expected. She understood this. She was calm, cool, collected, a huge change to her usual schizophrenic confusion. This was a trick Nurse Werner had taught her. She felt like her mind was clear, and she was _not_ going to let this go. "If you _are_ a... _'__wild __dog__'_..." she began, slowly, eyes fixed on his, "Then answer the question. Why are you still here." He just looked at her, and she shook her head, "You took off those handcuffs so easily. It took you less than thirty seconds."

"Uh-huh. _So_...?"

"So if you can pick a lock that easily, then why the hell are you still here."

The Joker sighed, "You want me to _prove_ it? How... _boring_..."

Rebecca shook her head, "I don't want proof. I just wanna know why you'd stick around if you had a way of getting out. Why _any_one would."

He looked at her for a moment. She could feel her heart beating, but, for once, it didn't seem to be in fear. It was anticipation. She wanted to know.

She could remember feeling like this before. Back at high school, back during her Psychology AP. She wanted to _know_, she wanted to _see_, to _prove_, she wanted _facts_.

She wanted to understand the Joker.

Her newest test subject had been watching her the whole time, his eyes flickering over her. His tongue moved to trace the scar under his lip, and then he shook his head, "That, uh... kinky little straightjacket of yours. If you want I could take that off for you."

She frowned at the change of subject, "You can't. It's not just straps; they've padlocked the things shut."

He cocked an eyebrow, "So? Never stopped me before." He left that at that, and his eyes started wandering again, "If you want I could, uh, help you out of some _other_ items of _clo_thing as _well_. Would you like that?"

She stiffened a little, but only a little, "Not particularly."

"_Not __particularly_..."

He was looking her over. She wanted to get him back on track, but Eve was stirring inside her, angry at this display of chauvinism.

"Sounds like you hang around to deliberately piss us off." She dared, deliberately, wanting a response.

He perked his head up at the sharpness in her voice, "Ooh, _that_ was, uh, _different_. What voice was _that_, huh?"

Rebecca hesitated. Then she shook her head, "That was Eve."

"So you have... _MPD_? _DID_? Or are ya just repeatin' what they're sayin'?"

**Well how _else_ are you supposed to hear me?**

"Well how _else_ are you supposed to hear me?"

"_Interesting_... So what's the, uh, latest from Cuckoo town?"

She paused again. This wasn't what she wanted. She wanted to know about _him_. But she shook her head, deciding on a little _quid __pro __quo_. "Well. I can no longer tell whether people are actually talking or whether it's just a voice that sounds like them. I put things to vote, but Eve always cheats. One of the other voices spends all her time trying to figure out whether it's possible to kill yourself with a plastic spoon. Oh, and Doctor Crane switched my medication for placebos so he could finally find out what my true phobia is and his little alter ego can scare me to death with it."

He raised an eyebrow, "Well. Quite the co-_llec_-tion..."

"That last one's true. I've been off my meds without knowing it for over a month. Crane switched my Clozapine for water tablets."

"He did?"

"Yeah. He told me. Before he got Scarecrow to force-feed me LSD."

"LSD? Shoulda just taken it, Twitch. They give a wonderful high..."

She gave a sharp, sardonic laugh, "Not when you're a paranoid schizophrenic, they don't. Almost as bad as his damned _toxin_. I spent the rest of the day cowering in the corner, did you know that LSD can stay in your system for twelve hours? 'Cause _I_ sure as hell didn't."

"Mmmm." He was playing with the food in the discarded tray on the floor. She raised her eyebrows as he proceeded to dip his finger into it, and then start finger-painting on the nearest wall. "Well, that's the trouble with life, aint it, honey. You, uh, never know how long things are gonna _last_."

He hadn't looked at her. It felt like he had, though. Rebecca watched him as he contentedly started drawing long thin rectangles across her wall, the words he had just said still echoing through her brain. You never know how long things are gonna last. Hell. How _profound_. _Not_ something she would have expected from a sociopathic clown, however.

"Why d'you say that." She asked, quietly.

He shrugged, still not looking at her, "'Cause it's not true."

Now _that_ just plain confused her. "What d'you mean?"

"I say it 'cause it's not _true_. You _do_ know how long things are gonna last." This time he glanced at her, raising an eyebrow, "It's quite easy to work out, dontcha think, sweetlips?"

She looked at him for a long time. Then she shook her head, "You've used that one before."

He glanced at her again, "Hmmm?"

"That pet name, you've used it before."

"Uh, no I didn't." He corrected, turning back to his painting, easily, "Last time I said _sugar_lips. It's completely different."

"How many of those names do you _know_?"

She could sense a smirk in his tone. "Oh, there's plenty where _that_ came from, sunshine."

Rebecca sighed. "I've changed my mind. You're not here just to piss me off. You're here to confuse me."

He laughed at that, but not his usual laugh. This laugh was soft, contemplative, ironic. She found her eyes following the movement of his fingers, precise and remarkably delicate, painting out the details of what now appeared to be six tower blocks, side by side, perhaps a Gotham landscape. Yes, that there, that had to be Wayne Towers, positively soaring over the others, with its trademark 'W' drawn in near the top. The Joker shot her look between painting another window, raising an eyebrow, "_You__'__re_ trying to _psychoanalyse_ me.

"Well, isn't that what _you_ were doing?"

He chuckled again, shaking his head, "So paranoid..."

"It's in the job description." She watched him for a moment, and then nodded, "Go on, then. How d'you know how long things are gonna last."

"'Cause you look at the past. See how long they've lasted then." He glanced at her again, as if talking to a child, "It's remarkably accurate, ya know."

Rebecca just frowned at him. He was talking surprisingly... _normally_. His strange, deliberate stutter seemed to have vanished, and, though he was still speaking in his usual drawl, his voice had changed somehow. He seemed much more... _pensive_. And, somehow... a lot less insane than previously thought.

"What do you mean?" she asked, finally.

He looked up from his perhaps finished portrait, holding her eyes for what felt like an indefinitely long time. Then he shook his head, and got abruptly to his feet, "Stand up."

She immediately recoiled, looking him over, warily, "Why."

He rolled his eyes, "'Cause I'm gettin' tired of talkin' to a gal that looks like somethin' outta Silent Hill."

She glanced down at herself. She'd almost forgotten the straightjacket. It really wasn't that uncomfortable when you got used to it.

The Joker started moving over to her, and she got to her feet, reflexively, taking a few impulsive steps away from the bed, "Joker..."

He took hold of her arms, ignoring her quick stumble back, following the material round to the back, simultaneously taking a step forwards, seemingly so he could reach the back without having to change position, "Stay still."

Rebecca could do nothing else. Aside from the Joker's bulk directly in front of her with the wall behind, the hands that were doing something to the sleeve-holders behind her back made lateral movement was practically impossible.

She let out a slow, long breath, wondering if he could feel her heart pumping through her chest, "Do you have to be so close to me to do that?"

Though his attention remained on the straps, he smirked, "_Noooo_... but I _like_ to."

"I'd really rather you didn't." She had gritted her teeth. Her skin was crawling under the suddenly very thin straightjacket, and she felt just seconds away from jerking out at him, _away_ from him, but she couldn't, her arms were restrained and she couldn't, and it was the most unpleasant feeling in the world, like being an obsessive-compulsive attached to a chair in a room with a crooked painting, or a claustrophobic in a lift.

"Yeah, didn't think you would." She twitched a little, and his eyes flickered to her face, almost impatiently, "Stay _still_."

When his eyes connected with hers she lost the will to fight, and instead just nodded, numbly. But he kept his eyes on hers, his hands working seemingly independently of sight, those black orbs locked onto hers and showing no intent of letting go.

Rebecca was the first to break it. She couldn't stand the intensity of this madman's stare. It was like looking into two black holes.

She thought she saw a smirk, but it was gone as soon as it came, and the rattling continued, slight tugs occasionally pulling through her body, making her feel unbalanced and almost dizzy. She didn't like this. Not one bit.

"You have a scar on your lip."

Rebecca looked at him, sharply. His dark eyes were fixed on her mouth. "What?" she asked, shakily.

"You have the slightest scar on your lip, it's hard to see, but it's there." As she had dreaded, the mere statement was not enough, and he reached up a single finger to just brush against her skin, "_Here_."

Rebecca instantly jerked back, sharply, her back colliding sharply with the wall, surprising her as her hands abruptly fell back down by her sides.

The Joker gave a lopsided grin, "See? Told ya I could do it."

She glanced over her free arms. Then back up at him. The clown was observing the open padlock in his hand with interest, and then he stowed it away in a pocket - Gods knew what for - before glancing up at her again, "So, baby. Let's go back to my questions, shall we? Where ya from?"

She watched him, uneasily. She didn't want to get back onto these again. But he was still too close. She cleared her throat, a little nervously, and shook her head, "Coopersburg. It's in Pennsylvania. About a two hour drive from here."

"_Pennsylvania_..." he repeated, nodding almost approvingly, "So what protects a Pennsylvanian girl, then, hmmm? A girl with no _Dark__Knights_ to the rescue. What, uh, keeps _them_ safe in a dark alleyway, alone at night."

Her heart was starting to beat hard again. "Nothing. Clearly."

"Nuh-uh-uh." He corrected, swiftly, like a teacher helping a student cram before finals, "Not _quite_."

"I don't..." she faded off, and then shook her head, almost desperately, "What do you want me to say."

"I want you to tell me the right answer." He replied, simply, "Come on. It isn't hard. What kept a girl like you safe." Her eyebrows rose, and she had just opened her mouth when he cut right over her: "Okay, okay, what _would_ have kept a girl like you safe. What _should_ have kept you safe."

"I..." she shook her head again, giving the 'Stranger Danger' textbook response: "Reasonable precautions."

"_No_. _You_ took 'reasonable precautions', didn't you?" he skimmed air-quotes around the two words, repeating them as if they were poison, "And look where _that_ got ya."

**Arkham.** Eve answered, slowly, her voice as cautious as she was, **It ****brought ****you ****to **_**Arkham**_**.**

Rebecca was hesitating. She was stumbling, and she knew it. She couldn't feel where he was going with this, but everything about it filled her with dread.

_Please don't. Don't do this. Please don't go down this way. Don't._

"Then what would you suggest." She replied, her voice crisp through gritted teeth. She tried to maintain control, but it was so hard with this feeling swirling inside her, something she hadn't felt for so long, not fear but... something else.

He tapped her on the nose, like you would to a child, "It's the will to act. What protects you, little Red... is _you_."


	34. Chapter 34: Propaganda

Hey! Just to say I've been experimenting with DeviantArt, and I've finally managed to create myself my first little photo-manip. of Rebecca! :O I've posted it up at

Please let me know what you think! VArwen xx

* * *

**Chapter 34: Propaganda**

"Me?" the feeling in Rebecca's chest solidified, and, finally, she recognised it. She wasn't scared. For the first time in a very long time, she wasn't scared. She was _angry_. "I should have kept myself safe?" she clarified, feeling the anger run hot inside of her, like lightning, "Is that it? Is that what you're saying? That it was _my_ fault?"

That maddening smirk only served to add to her fury, "If you have to ask, pet..."

She gritted her teeth, fighting to keep control. Anger burned through her, a proper, deep anger she hadn't felt for so long, not since before New Years. "Damn you." She managed, keeping her voice almost still. Then she shook her head, feeling rage burst out of her, "It was _not_ my fault!"

The Joker tutted at her, mockingly, and it took all the restraint she had to stop herself from launching at him, "I fear the lady doth protest too much..."

"_Stop_ it." she said, sharply, trying to force her heart to calm, "Stop it." She paused, and drew in a deep, slow breath, and then shook her head, firmly, "I won't play this game with you."

He laughed, "Well _you're_ no fun."

"I know. I've been told."

"Not even up for a game with your, uh, _fellow inmates_?"

"I'm not one for games."

He winked at her, "More's the pity."

Rebecca reopened several of the long-healed cuts as her tattered nails reflexively dug once again into her palms. "Joker. Stop it. Now."

He cocked his head to one side, "Why?"

Eve managed to break free long enough to let out one feral snarl, "Because you're pissing me off."

He gave a slow smile, "That so? Didn't think you were _capable_ of _anger_, Twitch. Glad to know you've got it in ya."

"_Glad to know_?" she repeated, heatedly, her anger peaking as she struggled to reign it in, "What d'you _mean_ you're fucking _glad to know_?"

He laughed, "Hell yeah. I mean I've been tryna lure it outta ya for long enough, dontcha think?"

"Why would you do _that_?"

"Well. Mostly?" he winked again, moving towards her until he was far closer than she would have liked, "You're sexy when you're mad, hot-stuff."

At that she just looked at him.

He smirked again, "That was a hesitation there, foxy. What, ya not that mad after all?"

"Mad?" she repeated, sceptically, still slightly hesitant, but trying hard to get back to her feet, "I'm bloody _insane_..."

He smiled approvingly at that. But then he cocked his head again, looking at her, curiously, "Schizophrenic. Rapid mood changes. What's up with that?"

Was he talking about her or himself here? "Huh?" she managed, finally.

"Well you're a schizo _right_? So what's up with the mood changes? One second you're lookin' about ready to, uh, tear my _throat_ out... and the next you're all..." he took two more steps towards her, and she felt her muscles tense, "_panicky_. It's not becoming."

"_Becoming_?" she glanced at his feet, uneasily, and then back to his eyes, trying to regain control, "One step _back_, please."

He did the opposite, leaning towards her, conversationally, "Can ya feel it? Your heart start to, uh, speed up?" his eyes flickered over her, thoughtfully, "You hide it well."

"I've had a lot of practice." She managed to get the words out around clenched teeth. She didn't know how.

He nodded, again with that appreciative look, "I _bet_ you have..." he paused for a second, just looking at her, and then shook his head, "Y'know, it's really not that _polite_, dear. Keepin' changin' all the time. How's the hell a guy s'posed to keep up, hey?"

The hypocrisy of this statement allowed a little more anger to enter her systems, "_You're_ one to talk." She shook her head, giving a bark of a laugh, putting on a close imitation of his drawling accent, "I'm sane, I'm schizo, I'm a psychopath, I'm in Arkham Asylum for a fucking holiday, I'm just misunderstood, I paint... fucking _pictures_ on the walls with fucking _mashed potato_." She shook her head, looking at him with scepticism, "I think your problem is that you're just too bloody indecisive."

Rebecca, having once been fighting the anger, immediately switched to wishing for more of it at the look on his face. He cocked an eyebrow, "And just what, uh, _au-tho-ri-ty_ are _you_ usin' to psychoanalyse _me_. You think you see things how they are, Schizo?" he moved closer. She backed away until she hit the wall. "These pills you're poppin'... you really think they make ya see the world the way it is? Pills don't do that, cutie-pie. What _you_ went through did that." His fingers were in her hair, twirling round a lock, almost pensively, "See, things like that... leave a _scar_. Don't you _get_ it?" his grip tightened. He pulled a little, not enough to hurt. "It _changed_ you. _It changed you_."

"You're scaring me." Her voice remained level. Somehow.

He nodded, eyes fixed on hers, "Yeah. I know. 'Cause it's always horrifying seeing the truth, isn't it, Rebecca."

That froze her in her place, seizing her lungs and stopping her heart. He called her Red, he called her Twitch, he called her beautiful, good-looking, darling, sweetheart, he did _not_ call her - "_How do you know_ _my_ -"

"It doesn't _matter_." He interrupted, suddenly impatient, "Don't you _see_, _none_ of it matters. Tell me what matters, Rebecca."

Rebecca looked at him. She was shaking. She was no longer conscious of the movements of his hand in her hair. Her attention was fixed on his black eyes.

Seeing that her host had temporarily lost the ability to speak, Eve supplied the answer: "Your past. Your _past_ matters. It makes you what you are."

But he immediately shook his head, "_No_. No, that's not it. The past is _important_, _sure_. But that's gone now." His grips moved to her arms, and he came down a little to her level, capturing her eyes once again with his, "Rebecca, listen to me. It's _now_. Here, there, _now_. _Existence_. And the only way to exist in this world... is to live without rules. You tried livin' by the book, didn't you, Rebecca. It didn't work. You got burned."

"I got in his car." Rebecca was unaware of any conscious decision that allowed the words to leave her lips. Perhaps they weren't hers. Perhaps she hadn't said them. Perhaps she was hallucinating once again. "His van."

The Joker nodded, "Of course ya did. It was cold. Snowing. He was nice. He offered ya a lift home."

"How... how do you _know_ all this."

"I'm a clever guy," he replied, seriously, "And you're just another little girl in a big bad asylum." He tightened his grip hard enough to hurt, before quickly releasing her and turning his back.

The Joker was doing something with her bed. He was moving it. Moving it over to beside the door. No, to in _front_ of the door. In the way, blocking it.

No escape.

Water leaked down Rebecca's cheeks. She put a hand up, wiped them, and then put the fingers in her mouth. Wasted water, wasted. Can't waste water. Can't.

"Y'know..." he'd turned back to her again. When had he done that? "When your little _friend_ was thinkin' 'bout killin' herself... with that there plastic spoon... did ya ever think that maybe she had somethin' there?"

"What d'you mean?" her voice was perfectly normal, perfectly calm. As if oblivious to the turmoil her mind was going through. She'd thought her voice would shake.

"Well. Honey-bunch. You can, uh... kill someone with _anything_ if ya put ya _mind_ into it. It just needs a little... _force_."

She shook her head, "I'm a twenty-one year old schizophrenic who hasn't eaten a full meal since the nineties. I don't _have_ force."

"Well." He walked back towards her. He showed his empty hands to her. "Then maybe _this'll_ help." His fingers moved quickly, sleight of hand. "Here." He was holding something metal, something sharp.

A scalpel.

* * *

Rebecca's eyes locked onto it, "Where did you get that."

The Joker smirked, "A little present from one of my boys." He motioned to her with it, taking a few steps closer, "C'mere." He took an iron-grip on her chin, ignoring her frantic struggles as he lowered the blade to her cheek, "Hey. Look at me. _Here_. You keep your eyes on me." He pressed the metal down a little until she obeyed. He waited. Then he nodded, "Did I ever tell you how I got my scars?"

She shook her head, quickly, as best as she could with the point still on her skin, "No and I don't wanna know." She closed her eyes and then opened them again, quickly, when he tightened his grip, "I don't want to, I don't, I don't want to..."

He smiled. "Well _that's_ okay, princess. 'Cause now it's _your_ turn."

"What do you mean." He moved closer, pushing her back, and she cringed, "_Stop_! Stop."

"No. You're gonna listen to me now, dearest. 'Cause one day... _I_ got into a car." He licked his lips, cocking his head, "It wasn't a van, it was a, uh, 1986 _volkswagen golf_. Nice model. And, I'm tellin' ya, babe... these scars here? - back then... they were the _least_ of my problems."

She shuddered, violently. She felt goosebumps spread up her arms, the hair stand up on the back of her neck. Her heart was humming in her chest. She was panting for air. More air. More air.

"But with _youuu_..." he'd moved his attention back to her body again, his eyes flickering over every inch of bare skin with scrupulous detail, "Your guys were a little more _subtle_, _weren't_ they. There's hardly a scar on you." He paused for a second, searching her skin again. "Hardly anything for me to _go_ on..." he paused again. He thought. Then he nodded, decisively, and put his finger back on the scar on her mouth, "They split your lip, here."

Rebecca was feeling faint. "Stop. Stop, Joker. Stop."

"Did they do that when they started hitting you?"

"Stop."

"Or was that when they forced themselves on you?"

"_Pray. I said **pray**. **Do** it, bitch."  
_"_Our Father. Who art in Heaven. Hallowed be thy name. Thy... thy Kingdom..."_

"_Stop_."

"You'll have scars in the back of your throat, you know. Deep down. And more in..." his other hand explored, she barely felt it, "_other_ areas..."

"_Keep fucking going, slut."  
_"_Thy Kingdom come, thy... thy will be done. On earth... as it is in Heaven."_

"_Stop_!"

"You gotta stop _moving_, kitten, you don't want me ta _slip_, do ya?"

"Please." She was begging. She didn't care. The images had to stop. They had to stop. "I can't... I can't..."

"_Why_. You've been through it before, haven't you? _Worse_, even. And with our friend Short, Plain and Thickheaded out after ya, surely you better get yourself _used_ to this sort of thing?" he cocked his head, "No?" he watched her for a moment, curiously, "What d'you think's goin' on here?"

She shook her head, and her voice caught in her throat, "I don't know what's going on here."

"No. Ya don't. And ya don't even know how much you don't _know_. 'Cause _this_ is what's gonna happen." He moved the knife. He took her hand. "You see?" he lowered the blade to her palm.

"Here ya go."

He pushed the scalpel handle into her hand, and closed her fingers around it.

* * *

Rebecca looked at her hand. Then back to him. "What are you doing."

"I'm giving it to you." Her fingers stayed relaxed, and he curled them back round once again, "Take it."

"And just what do you expect me to do with it."

He cocked an eyebrow, "It's a _blade_, what d'you _think_ I expect you to do with it?" there was a sudden, abrupt crash at the door which made Rebecca start, followed by a series of muffled, frantic voices. The Joker rolled his eyes, "Oh, finally. They're gettin' slow." He nodded at the exit, and the bed that kept them from the room, "That's Johnny's men, cupcake. Better make it quick, that bed'll only last so long."

"They saw it on the cameras." Her eyes moved back to his as she hesitated, "I'm not... being part of this."

"Part of what? Some... highly planned, extensively designed escape attempt? No no no. _No_. That's not me." He pressed the blade more insistently into her hand, "What _I_ want... is something _much_ more... _simple_. Take the scalpel."

She shook her head, but then froze as the grip on her cheek became vice-tight.

"_Take_ it."

Take it.  
_Take it.  
__**Take it.**_

She hesitated. She let her fingers curl a little harder. He began to let go, and she tightened her grip, keeping the scalpel in her hand. The Joker smiled, "Good girl. Well done. Now." He lowered himself to her level again, like you would to a child, "This one's a little harder. Okay? You listening? Good." He positioned her hand onto the handle, pointing the blade outwards towards him, "Now. Cut me."

She glanced at him, quickly. Perhaps the continuing banging had made her hear something different, or perhaps she was hallucinating again, because he _couldn't_ have said - "_What_?"

"_Cut me_." He repeated, very clearly, very firmly.

"Wha..." she stumbled, confused, scared, "_Why_?"

"Well, you want to, don't you? You're angry with me 'cause I, uh, y'know. Brought up your past?" he looked at her, and, when she still didn't move, shook his head, "D'you want me to try it again? Will that help?"

"Joker, I... I'm not going to cut you."

He looked at her as if she were mad. "Why?" she couldn't answer. He shrugged, "I could, uh, give you some in-_cen_-tive, if ya like. You know... hurt you?" her heart pounded. He was too close. He was too close. "Hit you? Hit _on_ you?" then he shook his head, changing his mind, "Nah, but you'd probably _like_ that, _wouldn't_ you? Fucking whore. You _would_ like that, _wouldn't_ you. 'Cause we all know how a dirty little _slut_ like you likes to get _fucked_."

She could have blamed it on Eve. She could have blamed it on Jane. She could have blamed it on any number of her voices, her hallucinations. But, when she reacted, Rebecca knew inside something she hadn't been able to say for a very long time.

When she cut him, it was _her_.

* * *

He was on the floor. She'd pushed him away from her. She'd slashed him across the chest and she'd pushed him away from her. The scalpel, the one held tightly in her hand, dripped blood onto the floor.

He looked up at her. Slowly, he smirked. He sat up a little, eyes only for her. Then he winked, "Your first time. How'd it feel?"

She looked at him. She could see in utter clarity. Hear every smash from behind the door until the idiots finally managed to throw the bed out of the way and storm into the room, first aiming for him, for the Joker, the most dangerous, the most psychopathic, the one with the highest kill count.

The Joker didn't fight them, but he didn't go with open arms either. All he seemed to want was a clear view of her, and when the three orderlies started trying to drag him to his feet he spoke to her again, "I said how did it _feel_, Rebecca Wells. It's rude not to _answer_, Wells."

Then Warrick came for her and her view of him was lost, and the orderly slammed her back against the hard wall, hands attacking hers, "Let it go, freak. I said _drop_ it!"

The scalpel was wrenched from her willing hand, and then she was roughly thrown face-down onto her bed, her arms yanked back under her and forced back into the straightjacket.

"How did it feel, Rebecca? C'mon, tell me, how'd it feel."

"Get that fucking lunatic outta here."

They moved the bed with her on it - light as she was - the floor screeching as they dragged it back into its position, a firm, demanding hand on her back forcing her to stay down.

She could hear heavy pants for breath, and muttered curses, scrapes and bumps, bangs, clatters. She lifted her head up. She looked for the Joker.

His eyes caught hers again. They were pulling him out of the room, into the corridor. "How'd that _feel_, Rebecca, huh?" They were dragging him away but he still managed to get it in one last time: "How'd you feel, _how did it __**feel**_?"

The door slammed shut. There was only silence. The voices were muted. She managed to look up a little. The orderlies must have replaced her bed on the wrong side of the wall, for she was now face-to-face with the Joker's finger-painting masterpiece.

Which was now splattered with the Joker's blood.

Rebecca didn't fidget with the binds. She stayed still. Her arms ached at the over-tight straightjacket, and her back hurt from when Short, Plain and Thickheaded had banged her up against the wall. But, despite all of that...

She felt good.


	35. Chapter 35: The Truth

**Chapter 35: The Truth**

_Wednesday, December 30__th__._

It was clear she was the last person he expected to hear knocking on his door. She didn't let this faze her, instead using it to her advantage, giving him a small smile as she walked into the small, crowded room and settling down in a chair that had been placed there for exactly this purpose, "Sam. How are you feeling?"

He turned his head to hers, and she suppressed a wince. Andrea knew the Joker had roughed him up a little, but _this_... The young orderly was covered in bruises and long, sharp scratches, most probably nail marks, but the most prominent injury of all was the jagged, scarring wound on his right cheek, less than an inch away from his eye.

A bite mark.

Sam Colt didn't say a word, and she managed a small, encouraging smile, "The docs told me it's looking good. None of the wounds are infected, and you should be out within a few days."

She didn't add that it was surprising he was still here at all. They had refused to tell her anything concrete, but she guessed maybe the attack had been more vicious than met the eye. Cuts and bruises, even including that bite, couldn't have resulted in almost a week long hospital stay. There had to be something else.

He stayed silent.

Andrea paused for a moment, thinking hard. Then she shook her head, "They're allowing visitors, right? How long for?" she glanced over her shoulder at the window, and then back to him, shrugging, casually, "I've only got ten minutes, apparently. I thought I'd get a little more, 'cause I'm a doctor, and all that, but apparently not. You had anyone in to see you yet?"

Silence.

"What about Lizzie?" Sam's girlfriend, surely, would provoke a reaction, "Has Lizzie been to see you?" did he just move, or was it her imagination? She knew Lizzie. Sweet little girl. What would she think about what had brought him here? Because it was all over the hospital now. She _had_ to know by now. "What did she say? About, y'know... the situation?" this time he definitely shifted. Andrea pressed it: "Did she come here for Christmas? She didn't, did she?"

There was a long pause. Then: "What d'you want, Nowell."

She leant closer towards him, deciding it was time to get to the point, "Soon there'll be an investigation. You know that, don't you? I want to know what happened."

"Why."

"Because Rebecca Wells is _my_ _patient_." He looked at her, quickly. Then he looked back at the floor. Andrea sighed, testily, "Sam. Why were you in her room. Why was the _Joker_ in her room."

Colt shook his head, "I'm not making any statements."

"And I'm not asking you to. I just need to know." He didn't reply, and she shook her head, a spark of anger rising inside her, "Sam. You will go down for this, you know that, don't you. You will go down. Gross misconduct, taking liberties, GBH, assisting an attempted murder -"

At this one Sam met her eyes, "Bullshit."

"That's what the lawyer will say, Sam."

"We weren't gonna _kill __**any**__one_."

"No, but _he_ would've," she pointed out, swiftly, "And you let him in with her, knowing exactly what he would do.

Sam hesitated. Then he shook his head, slowly, "I aint gonna talk about that."

"I _bet_ you aren't." She considered him for a moment. Sam Colt. Warrick must have found him _so_ easy to rile up, _so_ easy to convince. He was weak, this one. God knew how he had managed the training for the most prestigious asylum this far from Colorado.

He _was_ a weak man. He was a follower, a sheep, as far as she was concerned. But... if he _was_ just a sheep, a follower... that didn't explain one little thing.

But she thought she knew the answer to that: "It was Rebecca that scratched him." He glanced at her, confused. "The Joker." She clarified, eyes fixed on his, "It wasn't you. It wasn't caused in the fight; he took you completely by surprise. Rebecca scratched him."

"So what if she did?" he replied, a little angrily.

"Well," she started, slowly, thinking carefully, "What we have to think about... is _why_ she scratched him." He just looked at her. _C'mon, kid, join the dots, here..._ "Rebecca's not a violent patient. And the scratches, coupled by the cuts on her hands and wrists... they look very much to me like _defensive_ wounds." A little understanding finally ran through his eyes. She leaned a little closer, still maintaining eye contact, "So what we have to _think_... is what he was _doing_ to her... for her to need to defend herself."

He _fully_ understood where she was going with this now. But he still seemed uneasy, "Who the fuck knows? We weren't in the room."

"Is that right?" she could just imagine the violent curse running through his head at this moment. She'd tripped him up. "_But_," she continued, casually, leaning back into her chair, making the movement appear relaxed despite the fact that she had done it to relieve the throbbing in her back, "If you _think_ about it... I'm sure _you_ knew what he was doing to her. Right? I mean, you were the one that pulled him off of her, right?"

He just looked at her, unwilling to be caught again.

Andrea paused. Then she shook her head, "You must have had _reason_ to, then, right? And, the _Joker_, _well_... he's one sick son of a bitch, we all know _that_."

The boy was just looking at her. She knew she could do this, she just needed more time.

But time she didn't have.

"Maybe he was doing something to her," she pressed, this time with the slightest ounce of urgency, "Maybe something you couldn't ignore. Maybe something that would freak her out more than anything else."

He looked at her. His eyes were locked on hers. But his fingers tapped a little on the bed beside him.

Andrea kept his gaze, "Maybe the Joker was trying to get a little friendlier than she wanted."

At this the kid immediately shook his head, scathingly, "That could be proved wrong in a second."

"Not with Rebecca." She corrected, firmly, "She refuses medical examination, has ever since she was committed nearly two years ago." he paused for a moment, hesitated. She leaned closer towards him, despite the pain, "He was raping her. And you saved her. That's how you got hurt."

"No-one would believe it." He replied, his voice completely flat, but his throat sounding a little dry.

"Like no-one would believe you were involved in it in the first place?" she pointed out. He hesitated again, and she shook her head, "Sam. They didn't believe it. Everyone knew the rumours. But they didn't believe them. The only reason the cops are on this is because of the Joker. No-one cares about Rebecca really, I mean, who _is_ she? She's just a paranoid schizophrenic from Trenton, _nobody_ knows her around here. But the _Joker_... _he's_ a _celebrity_."

"_Celebrity_?" he repeated, scorn in his voice.

She nodded, simply, "Yeah. He's known. He's dangerous, a psychopath, and the powers that be want to make sure the city's safe from him. That's our job. That's _your_ job."

Sam was now several shades whiter. He still stared at her, silently, but there was something else in his eyes now, something she couldn't quite read.

"You saved Rebecca," she repeated, bringing them easily back to the point she wanted to make. She didn't have much time. "You protected her from the Joker. So you might be looked upon a little more kindly." Then she paused, and shook her head, "_If_ it wasn't your idea to put him in there, of course."

Silence.

She sighed, and then took his hand, squeezing hard enough for him to glance at it, "Sam. I am the only one that can help you right now. But if you want my help you're gonna have to help _me_. And you can _do_ that by telling me who organised this." He cocked an eyebrow. Andrea ignored him. "Who's responsible for this, who is responsible for the Joker being left unsupervised in Rebecca Wells' room."

Sam looked at her, frowning, his eyes moving over her, almost warily, "Are you...?"

She knew what he meant. "Wired?" he nodded, and she shook her head. She raised a hand to her shirt, and deftly unbuttoned it, leaving it open so he could see, "There. Would you like me to take off my bra too, or can we trust each other now?"

He looked at her. "No. No we can't trust each other."

Andrea paused for a moment. Then she leant even closer, putting both hands on his, "Tell me, Sam. Tell me who gave the order. Tell me who put you up to it."

He paused. Then he shook his head, "It... it was Warrick. Trenton Warrick."

* * *

Rebecca lay on her back on the bed. It was cold, night, and the dark room only intensified the feeling. She wasn't moving, wasn't making a sound. There was nobody else there, no guards patrolling, no shouts. The screaming had died down hours ago. Not even an echo from the entire corridor. But the room was far from silent.

She rolled onto her side. Then onto her back again. Then onto her _other_ side. She couldn't take this for much longer. I mean, the crying, the weeping, the low moaning, she could manage that. But _this_ was just _ridiculous_. This constant warfare? The goddamn _screaming_... How the hell was she supposed to sleep through _this_?

Oh God. What do you want. _Come_ on, give a girl a break here. _What_ do you want?

She winced as another mindless shout went straight through her brain and buried herself further into the thin mattress, pulling her arm over her ear. The noise didn't dim, not even a bit. She sighed.

_That's because it's not __**real**__. Not __**really**__ real. You know that, don't you?_

Oh, but it _was_ real, _really_ real. Real enough to keep her awake, at least. A scream echoed through the room and she gritted her teeth. The sound was physical, it was _there_. Maybe she could block it out some _other_ way...

"Rebecca, pull yourself together," a voice said, firmly, with the slightest hint of disapproval, "Come on. You need to _listen_ to this, this is _important_."

She didn't move, made no response. She ignored the voice just as deftly as she ignored the cries.

"_Please_, Red, _listen_ to me. This isn't just in your head, this is _real_, _**really real**_. Come on, you need to _concentrate_!"

**Thud. Hollow. Thud. Empty. Dead.**

Red sighed again. Then she pulled herself up into a sitting position, and, her bare feet cold on the smooth floor, stood up. She hesitated for a moment, moving her head from side to side. It was pitch black. The door was usually two foot forwards and five foot left. She said _usually_. Sometimes it moved. Sometimes the whole _room_ moved. This particular voice, the one that was talking to her now, had once told her that the room didn't move, that it _couldn't_ move, that it was _Crane_ who moved _her_, trying to mess with her head. Red had dutifully agreed. But she didn't believe it. Why would Crane mess with a head as screwed up as hers?

She took the two feet forwards, turned on her heel, and took five more. She held out her hand, hesitantly, and pushed it forwards until her fingers brushed against the cold metal door. She frowned. It was open. It was closed before, someone had closed it. The room had moved again.

Oh well. She lowered her hand, moving down to get a better grip.

"Rebecca, stop. Listen to me."

Listen to you? Why. Why should I?

"You _have_ to. _Please_. You have to concentrate. _Please_."

Concentrate? Yes. Concentrate. There was something she was missing. Something so close.

"This is _real_, Red. Not a dream. _Real_."

This was real? Rebecca moved her hand up and down the doorframe. _This_ was real. She could feel it, touch it, it was there. It was hard when everything was so dark. The voice was right; there could be a full-scale battle going on outside and she would never have noticed. But... was it all in her head?

_What is it. What am I missing. What's wrong with this picture._

**Concentrate. **_**Concentrate**_**.**

No. No, it was too hard. The voices, the noises, the bangs, the thuds. Everything was a blur. She couldn't think.

Rebecca hesitated, and then shook her head. The name didn't sound familiar. Not that _much_ did lately. She took a better grip on the door and started to close it.

"Wait."

She waited.

"Rebecca... closing that door won't stop it, you know. It won't stop the noise. The noise is in your _head_. _Think_ about it. Think about where you are, _what_ you are. Shutting that door won't block out the noise."

She paused for a moment, thinking about it. Then she slid the door shut, firmly. The noise immediately stopped. Everything was quiet. She nodded, satisfied, and then moved back her five paces, then her two, lay down, and fell asleep.

* * *

"_Warrick_?" Andrea repeated, sceptically, "No. _No_, it _couldn't_ be."

"It was." Sam said, uneasily, "It _was him_."

She shook her head and got sharply to her feet, frustratedly, "It _can't_ have been! I mean, I know Warrick was _involved_, I'm not _stupid_, but who _told_ you to do it? Who _authorised_ it?"

"What the hell are you talking about?"

She let out a low snarl, turning her back for a second. Then she turned back, anger running through her, "I _know_ who did this. I _know_ it was him. It _wasn't Warrick_, _not_ on his own, anyway."

"Then _tell_ me, who the fuck _was_ it if it wasn't _Warrick_?"

"It was _Crane_!"

At this, Sam actually laughed, "_Crane_? Nah. _Course_ he didn't, he didn't have nothing to do with it."

"You're lying."

He shook his head, incredulously, "Why the fuck would I lie about that?"

"Because he's your _boss_! Because he's _powerful_, and you _know_ it!" she leaned over his bed, hands on the metal rails, "Tell me how he did it, how was he involved."

"I'm tellin' ya, he didn't have nothing to do with it." he replied, firmly.

"Then why did your little friend Joker tell me otherwise."

"How the fuck would _that_ freak know?" he asked, seemingly amazed at the idea.

"I don't know. But he knows... a lot more than you give him credit for." She paused. Then tried again. "So tell me. How was Crane involved."

"He weren't involved, because he weren't there."

_Stubborn fucking bastard, just __**tell me**_!

"Maybe he _wasn't_ there! But he _damned_ sure authorised it, so _tell_ me."

"He didn't have nothing to do with it." but then Sam shook his head, darkly, "But he damned sure didn't stop it, neither."

Andrea's attention perked. She stared at him, frowning, "Didn't _stop_ it? But you said he didn't have anything to _do_ with it."

"He didn't. But he knew."

"How can he have _known_ if he wasn't _involved_?" she asked, frustratedly.

The kid paused, uneasily, and shook his head again, "I aint getting involved in this..."

"You've _already_ involved, Colt, so just goddamned tell me. _How do you know he knew_, Sam." She paused, let him catch his breath. Then she shook her head, "How do you know."

"'Cause he was watching. He was watching the whole thing."

"_How_."

"Through... through the cameras."

Andrea stared at him. "_What_? _Cameras_?" he didn't reply, and she moved over, putting her hands next to him on the bed, leaning down until she was less than an inch from his face, "_What_ cameras."


	36. Chapter 36: Mad as Birds

**Chapter 36: Mad as Birds**

"It's kind of late for a session, Doctor Crane."

Awake, then. And a lot more aware than he had expected. "How do you know?"

Rebecca motioned around her as best as one could with their arms strapped to their chest, "Lights out. At least half an hour ago. So it's maybe... eleven? Bed time."

"Lights out was nine and a half hours ago." Crane lied, easily, walking over to her to undo the straightjacket, "It's time to get up, time for your medication."

She looked at him, cocking an eyebrow, "I don't take my medication anymore, remember?"

He managed an emotionless smile, "Then it's just time to get up." He tugged a little at her now freed arm, and, as usual, she stood, compliantly, "Come on. Let's go for a walk."

She hesitated at the door, a hand catching onto the doorframe as if to stop herself from falling. "I'm so so tired."

He pulled a little harder. "You won't be soon. Come on."

The girl obeyed, with a slight, strange laugh, stumbling forwards a little as if she'd had a few too many to drink, "_Arkham Asylum_... A stranger has come to share my room in the house not right in the head, a girl mad as birds..."

He ignored the recitation, very used to it now, instead leading her silently down the corridors.

"Bolting the night of the door with her arm her plume. Strait in the mazed bed, she deludes the heaven-proof house with entering clouds."

"Dylan Thomas, Love in the Asylum. Well remembered. High school English, was it?"

"Yet she deludes with walking the nightmarish room, as large as the dead, or rides the imagined oceans of the male wards."

"How are you feeling today?" he asked these questions blandly, automatically, expecting no real answer.

"She has come possessed who admits the delusive light through the bouncing wall, possessed by the skies."

"Are you feeling any better?"

"She sleeps in the narrow trough yet she walks the dust yet raves at her will on the madhouse boards worn thin by my walking tears."

Nearing the door now. Crane could hear the buckles on the jacket clink together as she walked, her hands open and by her sides. He knew he didn't need the restraints while she was in this mood. Later, when the anger hit, or the fear, maybe. But not now.

"And taken by light in her arms at long and dear last, I may without fail suffer the first vision that set fire to the stars."

"Beautiful." He murmured, taking the first step into their room as was now customary, and allowing her to follow on behind.

Rebecca sat in her chair, silently. It wasn't the green leather chair from his office, instead a cold plastic school chair, but she had still adopted it, having long since learned that it was the one with the best view of the door.

He felt her watching him prop it open with a doorstop, but before he could turn back she had opened her mouth, "It wasn't high school."

He turned back to her, cocking an eyebrow, "Sorry?"

"Thomas. It wasn't high school. He was my mother's favourite poet. And that's my favourite poem."

"Is that so?"

She leaned back on the chair, watching as the front two feet left the floor, and then clicked back down again, "Arkham Asylum... Do you know where 'The Elizabeth Arkham Asylum for the Criminally Insane' got its name?"

Clunk. Clunk. He looked at her for a second. "Yes, I do."

"Amadeus Arkham named it after his mother, Elizabeth, who had been mentally ill." Rebecca continued, as if she hadn't heard him. Maybe she hadn't. "Who he helped commit suicide. Doctor Arkham moved his family here, years and years ago. His wife and his daughter. Then an old patient of his escaped. Hawkins. He broke into Arkham."

"Miss Wells -"

"He killed his wife and his daughter. He raped them. He decapitated the girl, hid her head in a doll's house." She took a few breaths. Her eyes flickered over the blank wall opposite her. "They caught him. Sent him to Arkham. He spent his time there torturing the doctor, telling him his daughter was a whore, telling him exactly how he killed her. How he raped her. What it felt like." Clunk. Clunk. Clunk. "Amadeus Arkham went mad, and killed Hawkins on the anniversary of his family's murder." The chair clicked down to the floor, and didn't come up again, "Electroshock therapy gone wrong."

There was a long silence. Crane looked at her, measuring his response. "What pleasant bedtime stories you've been reading." He replied, finally, his voice flat and calm. He'd have to talk to the _nurses_ about that...

She nodded, vaguely, still not looking at him, "He got away with it, that time. And the time after that. And maybe even the time after _that_. But eventually he was caught. Imprisoned in his own hospital. Where he died." Suddenly, her eyes locked onto his, "Do you believe in karma, Doctor Crane?"

The answer was easy. "No."

"Then what would you call the circumstances that this man went through?"

"Irony." Then he gave a small smile, reconsidering, "And carelessness."

"Carelessness." She repeated, nodding again, thoughtfully, "He was careless. He wasn't careful." She paused for a moment. "Nowhere _near_ as careful as _you_, right?"

He looked at her a second, trying to gauge the emotions behind the question. "Yes."

"So very careful..." she paused for a long time, perhaps conferring with one voice or another. Then she glanced up at him, "But you left _me_ alive, right? You should have killed me. When I get out of here -"

"You won't get out of here."

"_If_ I get out of here..." she corrected, nodding, "I'll tell everyone. You won't be able to stop me."

He nodded, thoughtfully, and leant back in his chair, "I'm sorry to resort to the cliché, Miss Wells... but who would believe you? You're a paranoid schizophrenic who has recently gone into remission, locked away in a hospital for the criminally insane."

He should have expected the response, but it still took him slightly by surprise as she shot to her feet, anger burned into her features: "I'm _not_ a _criminal_!"

"That's not what whoever will read your file will think, Miss Wells." He leafed through a paper file on a desk beside him. It wasn't hers, but he doubted she'd notice. "Theft. Vandalism."

She raised an eyebrow, "_Vandalism_?"

He glanced up at her, "You trashed your cell."

She actually laughed, and then shook her head, sceptically, "I _told_ you, that _wasn't me_, that was the _Joker_!"

"Yes, and was that before or after you cut him with a scalpel?"

That one threw her. She hesitated, just looking at him for a moment. "He... _he_ brought that in. Not me."

He nodded, ignoring this distinction, and went back to the blank page, "Assault. Intimidation."

"_Intimidation_? I haven't _intimidated __**any**__body_!"

"Refusing to eat, refusing to take medication, violent, uncontrollable mood-swings, intense paranoia..." he stopped there, glancing back up at her again, "You've been making wild accusations about my staff and I since the day you got here." He let that settle, and then leant towards her a little, "Rebecca. Who will believe you."

Rebecca paused for a very long time. Then she shook her head, "Elaine. My psychiatrist, Elaine, she'd believe me."

"Doctor Moss is at the moment on sabbatical." He replied, easily, "And I'm afraid I haven't got a forwarding address or number for her. My apologies."

She looked at him. He knew where her mind was going, and knew how difficult this was going to be for her. She managed it: "Werner. Nurse Werner."

Crane cocked an eyebrow, not about to make this any easier, "Nurse _Werner_? You mean the nurse you drove out of the hospital? The nurse you told you never wanted to see again?"

She winced, looking guilty as hell, "She... she knows I wouldn't... she knows I didn't..."

"You're sure about that?"

She hesitated again. Her hands were beginning to shake a bit, and she clenched them into fists. But she was still looking determined, despite the fear, "She knows. I want to see her."

Crane shook his head, "That's not going to be possible."

The girl actually took a step forwards, persisting, "I want to _see_ her. She's my nurse. I'm allowed."

"You misunderstand me. It's _not possible_."

She frowned. The shaking stopped, and for once he seemed to have her full attention, "What d'you mean?"

He paused, looking at her. Then he nodded towards her chair, eyes still on hers, "Perhaps you should sit."

She appeared to be frozen to the spot. "Perhaps you should stop quoting clichés."

He smiled a little. Then he looked at her. This could get difficult, but he had always known it wasn't going to be easy. In effect, what he was _asking_ was for Crow to be completely different to what he fundamentally _was_. Scarecrow was not gentle. _But_... if his alter ego wanted to finally get himself full control of this little patient... he would do what he said. He knew that he would have to try to suppress his usually feral nature.

Jonathan Crane took a slow, deep breath, subduing his doppelgänger as best as he could. Then he shook his head, "Nurse Werner is dead."

* * *

A phone rang in an empty house. The curtains closed, the lights off, the chime rang once, twice, three times...

The answering machine whirred and clicked as it turned on, "Hey, you've got Claire Rodriguez, you know the drill."

It beeped.

"Claire? Claire, you in?" the sound of traffic down a bad speaker rattled around the empty space, "This is Andrea, Claire, I have to speak with you. _Dammit_, you're not answering your cell." The caller sighed, impatiently, more rattles and clunks going down the line, "Claire, _pick up the phone_! _Christ_, come _on_, how long does a damned shower -" a squeal of brakes, the noise of an angry horn, "_Shit_! Hell. Christ, that was close. Teach me not to drive while on the cell, hey? Anyway, Claire, _listen_. I was just down Gotham General visiting Tweedledum, and you have no _idea_ what I just found out."


	37. Chapter 37: The Lunatics

**Chapter 37: The Lunatics...**

Rebecca looked up at him, sharply. She stared at him. For a moment, Crane wondered whether she had heard him over the constant nattering in her mind, but then she shook her head, "What are you talking about."

"Nurse Werner is dead." He repeated, calmly, slowly.

She just looked at him. Then she shook her head again, "You're wrong. You're lying."

"Which is it?"

"You're _lying_."

"Why would I lie to you, Rebecca?"

Anger burned across her face and she bounded to her feet, "Because you're _insane_! Because you're trying to _trick_ me! Because..." she hesitated. She looked at him. "No." her voice was quieter now. Uncertain. "No, you're lying. You _have_ to be lying. You _must_ be."

"And why is that?"

She turned her back, sharply, swearing viciously under her breath. Crane watched her with interest. Her anger seemed to be continuingly dissipating and then returning again with a vengeance, her schizophrenic paranoia not allowing her mind to disregard his words, no matter how much she wanted to. He had never seen her this changeable before. Perhaps she couldn't see that she was slipping slightly.

"Why would you say that." She murmured, distractedly, pacing a little, before turning on him again, "_Why would you say that_?"

"Because I thought you needed to know." He replied, evenly.

"You _thought I needed to __**know**_?" She burst out, fury and outrage burning through her voice, "_Bullshit_! You want... you want to..." she visibly fought with the words for a moment, and then shook her head, turning her back, moving away to brace her weight down on her hands on a nearby desk.

Crane watched her rigid shoulders shake, her body heaving with every heavy breath. He paused, watching her, staying silent. Any moment now...

The girl's head moved to the left, her black eyes tracing the floor for a moment before closing, "She's dead. Werner's dead. She's dead."

"Yes, she is." He replied, calmly.

Rebecca paused for a moment. Then she shook her head, opening her eyes again, "But... but the last thing I said to her... was..."

"_She told me to get away from her. She said... 'get the fuck away from me, get **out**.' Word for word."_

The memory was clear in Crane's head. He knew just how the nurse had felt about that particular conversation. It was still a sore subject even after a full two months.

"How... how did she..."

He glanced up. She'd managed that question rather well, considering the topic. He paused, and then shook his head, "The press article said she drowned."

This seemed to perk her attention. She looked at him, frowning, and turned back, "_Drowned_? But she... she was terrified of _water_, she wouldn't have..." She stopped, realisation hitting quickly. She stared at him. "You. You did this. You killed her."

He shook his head, calmly, "Miss Wells, though it is true I saw Nurse Werner on the day of her accident, she left here in a perfectly satisfactory condition. She was late, she left in a hurry for one thing or another, and she cut a corner in her car and swerved. The police found her four-by-four at the bottom of Westgate Lake."

Rebecca took an angry step forwards, "_She was a fantastic driver_! _You_ killed her, and then you dumped her body in the lake."

"I assure you..." he said, delicately, "I did not so much as touch her."

This time she caught it immediately, and took another step forwards, "You. _You_ did not so much as touch her. _You_ didn't. Of _course_ _**you**_ didn't." she paused, and then shook her head, "He told me you were weak. That you didn't have the stomach to do what _needed to be done_, and he was right, wasn't he?" she was stumbling, her breaths quick and shallow, and he could see her eyes start to shine with unshed tears, "You couldn't even do it _yourself_, _could_ you?" her anger was dissolving again, and she could no longer hold the tears back, holding herself admirably even as they flowed down her cheeks, "You couldn't even... You couldn't even kill her yourself. So you sent your _dog_ to do it for you." She put up a hand to cover her face, breathing hard and sharp, her whole body shaking, "And now she's dead. She's dead. You let him kill her."

Crane watched in silence as she cried. After a while, though, he found his eyes shifting inexorably onto the tears sliding down her face, and knew he didn't have long.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you."

She glanced up at him, bitterly, so wilful, even now. "What. _Cry_?"

"Yes."

"Why."

He thought for a moment. Then he gave her a small, soft smile, "Because it's getting very hard to hold him back."

She looked at him. As much as she hated to admit it, it was obvious which side of the doctor she preferred. She raised a shaking hand to her face and wiped away her tears, quickly, attempting to swallow all signs of her pain, her fear. She looked at him, straight, trying to lock her emotion down, but she was trembling, shivering under his fixed stare, and every breath she took was harsh and shaky.

Crane could feel that his eyes were going dark, and he smiled at her, slowly, "Nope. That didn't help either."

He'd done this many times. On most occasions it had been easy, a simple slip back of the consciousness; a little unsettling, perhaps, but hardly unnerving. On other occasions Scarecrow had forced himself through, took advantage of a second's lapse and seized control with brute force. Those instances were less... comfortable... but at least they were usually quick. Like pulling a Band-Aid off a wound, or getting a sharp blow to the head.

He could already tell that this push was going to be hard to resist.

"Crane?" her voice was hesitant, scared. "No. Don't. Crane?"

"I said you had something for him." Crane felt the words come from his mouth, knowing them not be his, "Seems it goes even deeper than I thought, right?"

"Crane." She tried again, her voice almost pleading now, "Please. Don't."

That pushed him over the edge. Crane closed his eyes, easily, and let Scarecrow take control.

* * *

"Crane." Rebecca repeated, backing off a step.

He clicked out his neck, rolling it to each side before stretching out his shoulders. Then he smiled at her, "Now, honey. If we're going to do this _properly_, you're supposed to scream out _my_ name. It's only polite."

She looked at him for a long time. "Scarecrow." Her voice shook.

He laughed, and deftly moved over to her, placing a hand on her shoulder, "Oh, come on, darl, I think you can do better than _that_."

The girl yanked back, "_Don't_ touch me, _don't_!"

He caught her hand, and then the other as she attempted to hit him, "Hey. Hey hey hey, shh." He waited until she stopped struggling, and then smiled, "It's alright, I'm not gonna hurt you."

"_Really_." She replied, sarcasm sharp in her tone, "It's a sin to lie, _Doctor Crane_."

He nodded, thoughtfully, "Then I've performed lots of sins, Rebecca. But I'm not lying now."

She gave a bitter laugh and then pulled out of his grip again, "The boy who cried wolf, I don't _believe_ you!"

He smiled at her again, "Still quoting scripture?"

She laughed again, "It's _Aesop's Fables_. And I bet Crane's now furious. Not really all that surprised myself, you don't hit me as a hell of a reader."

Scarecrow looked at her. Truth be told, the good doctor _had_ seemed a little perturbed at that one little mistake, but at the moment he seemed more concerned at the situation than literature. Supressing his 'feral nature' was all that he seemed to care about at the moment, and it seemed he was failing.

"That's right, sweetheart," Scarecrow said, managing to keep his voice level, "Not much a fan of either, really, to tell the truth."

"That's surprising." She cut back, scathingly, shaking her head with disgust.

His fists tightened a little. Then he forced them to relax, forced up a smile, "Really? I thought you'd like fables." He put his hand on the wall beside her, and then onto her hair, "You seem the type."

She pulled back again, sharply, "I told you not to touch me."

"And I told you I wasn't going to hurt you."

"But..." her eyes flittered over his, angry, furious, scared, but mostly... confused. "_Why_?" she managed, finally.

He shook his head, making his movements in her hair soft and gentle, "What would hurting you accomplish, Rebecca?" she just glared at him, and he sighed, "I appreciate we've had our differences -"

"You _killed Werner_." She interrupted, shaking with anger and grief, "You _killed_ her."

He hesitated, and then nodded, "I know."

She shook her head in disgust, "Then we have nothing to talk about."

Scarecrow looked at her.

_This is not going to __**work**__, Crane!_ He said, angrily, his patience easily growing thin.

_Give it time._ The doctor replied, curtly, _You know it'll work, you've just gotta give it __**time**__._

He paused again, thinking quickly. Then he shook his head, pulling away from her of his own accord, "I'm sorry."

Rebecca completely froze, staring at him with an emotion he couldn't decipher. "You're _what_?"

Well, _that_ hit a chord... _I've got her._ "I'm sorry."

The girl yanked back, backing away a few steps, shaking her head, "_Don't_ say that. Don't even _think_ that, you're not sorry, you don't _care_. _Worse_, you _loved_ it, don't you _**dare**_ tell me otherwise!"

"I _am_ sorry, Rebecca." He persisted, taking a step towards her as she moved back, "Nurse Werner's death was a... tragic necessity. If I could have avoided it I would."

"_Bullshit_!" she snarled, ferociously, "You killed her because you're _you_, that's what you _do_!"

"No, Rebecca." He took another step forwards and she surged back, but she didn't notice the table behind her and full-on smashed her elbow back onto the corner.

She fell back with a yelp of pain, followed by viciously muttered curses, grabbing her arm and wincing at the pain. Scarecrow wanted to laugh, but instead forced an almost Doctor-Crane-like frown onto his face, injecting it with a heavy dose of concern, "Oh, honey, you hurt yourself? Hit your funny bone?"

She glanced up at him, but not in time to pull back as he took her arm, firmly but gently, pulling her a little closer. "You know what that is? It's the ulnar nerve, getting trapped between the bone and the skin. It's the largest unprotected nerve, so it's pretty easy to catch." His eyes moved over her with the best imitation of concern he could muster, "You okay? Huh? Come here. Let me make it better."

He moved his hand down to her elbow, managing to ignore the slightest whimper from the back of her throat, and, moving carefully, he pressed down a little where Crane instructed him. He saw the pain leave her face, but not the fear, and gave her a small smile, "Better? There we go. That's better, isn't it?"

"Scarecrow, what the _fuck_ are you doing." She managed, her voice strangely thick, as if strained. She was trying to regain control. How sweet.

_Gentle_. Crane reminded him, and he nodded, and then released her arm, slowly, simultaneously moving so their faces were an inch apart.

Rebecca cringed back into the wall, but kept her eyes fixed on him, and there was a caution like he'd never seen buried inside of them, "What are you... what are you doing?"

He paused. His eyes moved down to her lips, but he didn't make a move.

_God damn this bitch. This better fucking work._

He moved closer to her, slowly, until he could feel her breath on his skin.

"Stop it." she said, weakly, shaking her head, slowly, "_Stop_ it."

He ignored her, and, almost thoughtfully, placed a hand on her cheek.

She flinched backwards, but fear seemed to keep her frozen in her place, so he moved more, light fingertips stroking across her jaw line, his other hand rising to caress her neck.

He leaned closer, closer to her lips, and his instinct was to bite, but - somehow - he resisted, along with the urge to put pressure on her gorgeous neck, instead pressing his lips gently onto hers and trailing his fingers across the line of her throat, able to feel her pounding pulse even with this light contact.

Something in his stomach twisted, tightened, and he smiled, breathing onto her skin, "You... are so beautiful."

She was wearing a thin, white blouse. God knew why, it was hardly something the nurses would've bought her, and didn't seem like her usual top-and-jeans fashion. She still had the blue jeans, though.

Scarecrow moved his hand down from her shoulder to her chest, and slowly popped open the first few buttons.

Little Rebecca was shaking, shivering, feet locked into place, eyes fixed on his, too scared to move. "Scarecrow -"

* * *

The knock on the door startled both of them, Rebecca jolting her head toward the sound while the Scarecrow cursed under his breath. He looked back at her. She hadn't noticed, and now was frozen, staring at the door.

"Doctor Crane?"

The voice - middle-aged, female, familiar. Scarecrow paid little attention to the comings and goings of all Crane's little lackeys, but he recognised this voice easily.

He smiled. The door had been propped open, he remembered Johnny-boy doing it, but only a foot or so, and the way they were positioned now put them completely out of sight.

Little Becky was looking at him again. She'd recognised the voice too.

Slowly, he manoeuvred her around, moving her further into the room, while he backed away around the corner that gave him cover.

He met her eyes again and smirked, and held a single finger in front of his lips.

_Shh_.

* * *

"Doctor Crane?" Andrea Nowell pushed away the doorstop, opening it fully and moving into the room, "Doctor, I was just -" she caught sight of her, as Rebecca knew she would, and froze, as Rebecca knew she would. "Oh my God. _Rebecca_?"

She was over to her side in a flash, hand on her head, shocked eyes clocking both the tears on her face and the half-open blouse.

Rebecca felt tears streaming freely down her face, her body shaking, the doctor's sharp, concerned questioning just background noise.

"Not you." She managed, her voice tight with tears, shaking her head, "Please. Please not you."

The doctor frowned, looking at her, "What do you mean? Rebecca? Rebecca, can you hear me?"

"_Doctor Nowell_."

Her head jerked to his, but Rebecca showed no surprise. A hand on her heart and lungs was squeezing, hard. She couldn't handle this. She couldn't handle this.

"_Andrea_." Scarecrow said, a smile lingering on his lips, his eyes moving over her, slowly, "What a surprise. I've been meaning to catch up with you for some time..."

Nowell shook her head, looking at him, her hands reflexively tightening on her shoulders, as if that would save them both, "Jonathan, what have you done."

He laughed, "Sorry, Doctor Crane isn't _in_ right now. But if you'd like to leave a message, I'm sure he'll get back to you as soon as he can." she stared at him, and he moved towards them, "Now... _Andrea Karris_..."

"It's Nowell." She replied, coolly, but Rebecca could hear the slightest amount of tension in her voice.

_Run. Run, Andrea. Just run._

The 'doctor' let his eyes graze over her, unabashed, "Why don't we keep the original... just for a bit..."

"What's wrong with you." She said, trying to get her to her feet, trying to pull her away from him, "What _happened_ to you."

"_Nothing's_ wrong with me. You've seen me before, haven't you?" she hesitated, and he smirked, coming closer, "Come on. You've _always_ been able to see me. You knew I was there all along. Now. Let's put that silly little ring away... and have some fun, what d'ya say."

"Please." Rebecca managed, finally, her heart pounding like a drum, "No. Please. Don't hurt her."

Andrea glanced down at her, "Rebecca. Are you alright."

"Andrea, go." The doctor just looked at her, and she shook her head, desperately, "Please. Go, just _run_!"

Scarecrow laughed, shaking his head, "Aww, how cute. Seems the little schizo's got friends after _all_."

"What have you been _doing_ to her." Nowell snarled, pulling her upwards again, taking her back a step, away from him.

He laughed, "Why d'you ask? _Suspicious_, are you?"

"I think it's gone far past suspicions now, _Crane_. Now it's just plain damned curiosity."

He smirked, watching her, "Ah. Well, little Andrea... we all know what they say about curiosity and the cat..."

Andrea let go of her, and then surprised her by bringing out what had to be a long-range taser, "Definitely."

At this one Scarecrow laughed, enthusiastically, taking another step forwards, "_Ooh_, she's feisty."

"Step away, Doctor Crane."

"Andrea, please." She tried again. She knew where this was going, knew a toy like that would do nothing to save her, knew she had to stop it, "Please. He's not Crane. He's not Crane, _please_, _**leave**_!"

But she didn't, she wouldn't, and Rebecca knew that now, so she watched, all she could do was watch, as Scarecrow moved faster than Crane ever could, throwing her backwards, away, and then catching Doctor Nowell straight in the face with a cloud of thick, choking gas.

* * *

When Andrea had stopped coughing, choking, pulled herself back to her senses and looked at them, she froze. Her breath visibly came short, and she shook her head, amazed and horrified.

Rebecca didn't want to look. She knew this. She knew the feeling. The floor crawling, the walls spinning, bright colours sparking, and then the man, the man in front of you, that one face.

"Gavin?" Andrea asked, uncertainly, her voice quiet, confused, scared, "_Gavin_?"

Scarecrow smirked, "Ahh yes. Of course. Look, Becks, seems you're not the _only_ one who can't handle their men."

The doctor shook her head, took a step back, shook it again, "No. No, you're... you're in Blackgate, you're..."

"Blackgate Penitentiary?" he asked, casually, "Mmm, interesting... Crane thought that he had been relocated to Gotham City, but perhaps you are more to be trusted in that particular area. You are his _wife_ after all."

"Wife?" she repeated, weakly, "No. Ex. _Ex_-wife."

He cocked an eyebrow, "_Ex_-wife? As far as I know we never divorced, _Andra_."

She recoiled, "_Don't call me that_. And _don't_ say 'I'. You're not him. I don't know _what_ you are -"

"You know _exactly_ what I am." He took a step towards her and she flinched back again. He smiled, "Sorry, hon. Johnny-boy don't hire someone without getting to know _every_thing about them." He closed the distance between them with one stride, "_Every little detail_."

He took hold of her arm and she yanked back. She fought, hard, shouting and screaming at the imaginary man holding her down, but he easily overpowered her, forcing her back into the wall and pushing her down to the floor, putting a knee down hard on her leg to keep her down.

"Gavin," she repeated, eyes watering with pain and fear, "Gavin, please. Don't."

"Don't what?" he asked, casually. He moved his hand, and, when she flinched, grabbed a handful of her hair, yanking her head back, forcing her to cry out in pain. He kept her there, against the wall, leaning towards her, "You did this to _yourself_, remember?"

Andrea whimpered, and Rebecca managed to get to her feet, "Stop it," she almost begged, eyes fixed on her, hating the effect he was having on the once so unshakeable doctor, "Stop it. Please. Stop it _now_. Leave her alone."

"You hear that, babe? Girl wants me to leave you alone. Like you're not _mine_."

"Please, Crane. Scarecrow. Please."

"Gavin." Andrea moaned, and Rebecca could see that she was shaking.

Scarecrow turned his attention back to her, "Yes, hon?" she didn't reply, and he shook his head, sighing, "You _see_... we still haven't really settled that argument we had. All those years ago? Remember? You came home late..."

"There was a three-car pile-up on the highway," she continued, her voice harsh and shaking, "I was twenty minutes late."

Rebecca couldn't breathe. She didn't know how the doctor was still conscious.

He nodded, almost conversationally, "Yeah. And then you went to the _cops_ about me, didn't you, hon. You went to the _cops_. Five years married and you do _that_ to me? Not gonna go unpunished, pet."

"I'm sorry," she murmured, her breathing getting to a state where she was almost hyperventilating, tears pouring down her cheeks, "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

"You know what, sweetheart?" He released his tight grip, brushing down her hair, soothingly, "I believe you."

Rebecca watched as the Scarecrow released her wrists, and put his other hand on her head.

Then he snapped her neck.


	38. Chapter 38: Have Taken Over The Asylum

**Chapter 38: ...Have Taken Over The Asylum**

Rebecca fell back against a wall, pressing her hand tightly over her mouth, feeling like she was going to be sick, feeling like she was going to scream.

_Oh God, don't do that. Don't do that. Don't scream don't scream don't scream don't -_

Her breathing was audible and erratic, completely out of control, more whimpers than proper breaths, the tears coming again, and she shook her head, slowly, recoiling back into the immovable object behind her.

Scarecrow was stroking Nowell's hair when his eyes moved up to hers, and a smile moved across his lips, "You see? Was it that_ difficult_?" she shook her head, not understanding, and he sighed, abruptly getting to his feet. Rebecca's eyes stayed on the doctor's limp body for as long as they could before reflex moved them back on to him. He looked at her, shaking his head, motioning at Andrea, slumped on the floor, "You cry, you scream, you die, is it _that __**difficult**_?" then he glanced back at her, "Still. Such a shame. She was... _so_ gorgeous..." he looked back, smiling at her again, "Almost as fun to play with as _you_."

"You killed her." She managed, finally, her words breathless and muffled by the hand still over her mouth, "You killed her, oh my God, you killed her. She's dead."

He smirked, "Yep."

Rebecca closed her eyes, forcing them shut, keeping him out, "No. _No_. House made of dawn, house made of evening light, house made of the dark cloud... Dark cloud is at the door, the trail out of it is dark cloud, the zigzag lightning stands high upon it..."

"Now _that's_ one I haven't heard before... care to share?"

"House made of male rain, house made of dark mist, house made of female rain, house made of pollen. House made of grasshoppers."

"C'mon, let me in, yeah?"

He wasn't touching her, wasn't touching her yet, and she kept her eyes forced closed, hands locked onto something hard and metal behind her, breathing tight in her chest, "Male deity, your offering I make. I have prepared a smoke for you. Restore my feet for me, restore my legs for me, restore my body for me, restore my mind for me."

She could sense a cocked head, "It's... _tribal_. It's... a tribal _healing_ prayer?"

Maybe he asked Crane? But, no, don't think of that, don't think of him, get yourself out, get yourself away.

"My interior feeling cool, may I walk. No longer sore, may I walk. Impervious to pain, may I walk. With lively feeling may I walk. As it used to be long ago, may I walk."

"This whole thing affected you quite a bit, didn't it?"

"Happily may I walk. Happily with abundant dark clouds, may I walk. Happily with abundant showers, may I walk. Happily with abundant plants, may I walk."

"I didn't think I'd get you _that_ bad."

"Happily, on a trail of pollen, may I walk. Happily may I walk. Being as it used to be long ago, may I walk."

"Sweetheart, we all know how I get when you start your chanting thing." A grip took her chin, and her eyes flew open, and he was so close to her she recoiled back, but his grip stayed like iron. Scarecrow moved his fingers over her lips, stopping her voice, stopping her recital, making her heart pump harder, _harder_, "_Look_ at me."

She did. His eyes took hers. His eyes stole hers.

_May it be beautiful before me, may it be beautiful behind me, may it be beautiful below me, may it be beautiful above me. With it be beautiful all around me._

_In beauty it is finished._

Slowly, a smirk came back to his lips, "What, you liked her too?" Her confusion broke through. She frowned. He smiled, "Well, it's the only reason why you'd be so upset, right? You liked her." He looked her over, thoughtfully, taking his hand casually off her mouth, "I didn't know that. If I had known that, I'd have used her against you sooner."

"You'd have killed her just to get a rise out of me?" the words left her mouth without going to her brain first, fear and anger and despair jolting through her, "What _are_ you? You're a _monster_!"

Scarecrow smiled, "No, sweetheart. I'm just the forerunner."

* * *

Rebecca's soul froze. She stared at him, shaking. "What did you say?" she whispered.

"I said I'm just the forerunner."

She tried to back off a step, realised she couldn't, held out a hand, "Don't say that."

"Why?"

She shook her head, "Don't _ever_ say that."

"Why."

"Don't."

"_Why_." He brushed gentle fingers across her cheek, the touch making her skin crawl, his eyes moving once again down to her lips, "C'mon. Tell me why. Why don't you want me to say that to you, angel."

She yanked back away from him, frenziedly, stumbling backwards, away, "_Don't call me that! Don't touch me, don't __**touch**__ me!_"

She staggered back into a filing cabinet, threw out an arm, managing to keep herself upright, but still staring at him. Eyes still fixed on him. He couldn't have. He couldn't. He couldn't know. _No-one_ could know! _Not even __**she**__ knew_!

"You can't..." she managed, shaking her head, something cold curling round her stomach, squeezing, hard, "You can't..."

Scarecrow smiled, "I can." he moved closer towards her. She backed away, hearing something clatter to the floor behind her, not caring, "I know what happened, Becky."

"You can't."

"Johnny-boy knows, so _I_ know."

"But... but _I_..."

"I found it out. _Becky's little secret_."

"But..."

He shook his head. He was close to her now. Inches away. He took hold of her arms, just above the elbows. He smiled, slowly, "C'mon, angel. Let me _help_."

He leant down, and forced his lips against hers.

* * *

Almost immediately, however, Scarecrow flinched back, as though burned. He kept his grip tight, staring at her for a moment. Then he turned his head.

**What the fuck is going on.** Eve said, slowly.

_I don't know_. Rebecca replied, cautiously.

She watched him, closely. He gave a short, irritated shake of the head, gritting his teeth, "I'm not done yet."

_What_?

Crane. It was Crane. Crane was trying to break back through.

Scarecrow's grip tightened until it started to hurt, "I said, _Johnny-boy, I'm not __**done**__ yet_."

He waited, listened. They continued their one-sided... 'disagreement'. Rebecca stared. She didn't even know which one she wanted to win.

_Crane,_ Jane said, immediately, _You want __**Crane**__, __**trust**__ me._

"Bullshit, she was quiet, so was the girl."

"What is it." she said, quietly.

Scarecrow shook his head, impatiently, and then slammed a hand over her mouth, forcing her back into the wall, completely ignoring her, "I'm _telling you_, we're _fine_."

The silence continued. Rebecca started pulling at his hand, the angle he had forced her into awkward on her neck, sending pain spasming down her spine.

He finally clocked her. He looked at her for a long time, not moving his position. "Just... five minutes." He growled, putting more pressure on her jaw until she was whimpering with pain under his hand, "I'll get more of a reaction out of her in five minutes than you have in five months. Trust me."

She tugged harder, her priorities switching easily from watching this madman fight with himself to trying to keep her neck intact. She finally managed to yank her head to one side, forcing him to press her directly against the wall instead of putting all the pressure on her neck. Scarecrow let out a low, feral growl, and seized her throat, smashing her head back against the wall, pressing down, hard.

And then he stopped.

* * *

Rebecca hesitated. She looked at him, at the man in front of her. She tried to watch his eyes, but he released her, roughly, and turned his back. A few seconds later, he turned back to her, eyes their perfect, sea-grey hue, breathing a little unsteadily. "Miss Wells."

"Crane." She stared at him for a moment. Then she shook her head, "You... called him off."

He nodded, "Well." He paused, then glanced over his shoulder. "_Some_one has to deal with this mess, don't they?"

Mess? That was Andrea. Andrea Nowell. Doctor Nowell, smart in a white top and grey skirt, brown hair pulled back in what looked like a clip, the one who knew, the one who understood, even when she dreamed of killing her, the one who brought her her friends, on Christmas Day, the one who gave her pills, the one who gave her hope.

The one who found her when she ran.

Eve was screaming in her head. **Stop him. Stop him. **_**Stop him**_**.**

Rebecca looked at him. Her stomach felt cold, her head light, dizzy. This couldn't become another Nurse Werner. This couldn't become another tragic accident, just another statistic in some bureaucrat's red book. He couldn't get away with this, not again.

Crane had turned his back to her once again, fiddling with something on the desk to Andrea's left. Back turned.

**Stop this. Stop **_**him**_**. **_**NOW**_**!**

She surged forwards and he moved fast, barely giving her enough time to wince, the needle was in and out so quickly.

"Okay. Alright, now. Alright."

She struggled, trying to get him off her, but his grip was strong, and she was getting weaker. He took her by the elbows as her knees gave a little under her, and then helped lower her to the ground as they gave way completely.

"No." she murmured, weakly,

Crane didn't look at her, instead concentrating on the injection site, working her arm and shoulder, gently, urging the liquid around her system, "Injected so close to the heart as that it usually works very quickly. Five seconds, shall we say? I need you to count backwards for me."

"Crane -"

"Five."

She shook her head, "Crane, don't -"

"Four."

She shook her head again, her vision starting to go slightly blurry. She had to stay awake. She had to keep herself awake.

"Three."

She could feel herself getting drowsy. She tried to open her mouth, to move, to speak, _any_thing, but she couldn't.

"Two."

_Do __**not**__ fall asleep_. Her mind ordered, firmly, _Do __**not fall asleep**_.

"One."

_Don't fall asleep._ She thought, and felt consciousness slip between her fingers.

* * *

Claire Rodriguez swiftly weaved in through her front door, closing it hard behind her. She paused for a moment, and then sighed, moving further inside, leaving the light off, relishing the dark silence. It was like being underwater; the rush of the sudden storm outside the door was muffled and warped, and just quiet enough not to bother her. She slowly peeled off her sodden jacket, hanging it up with some distaste on its hook. She had been caught right in the middle of the damned thing; every article of clothing she had on was _drenched_. She took the folders out from under her arm and glanced at them, sighing in relief as it became apparent the rain had not managed to penetrate their plastic folders. She'd just got home from a long walk from the bus stop, after a long ride from her parents' house two states over in Massachusetts. Technically speaking, she should still be there, but she had pled illness and managed to escape home 'until she was feeling a little better'. God, she _hated_ New Year's...

She fell into the nearest chair, closing her eyes and leaning her head back with a sigh. She thought about her day. _What_ a day... Sam Colt in the morning, eight hours of mindless gibberish with patients during the day whilst simultaneously trying figure out what the hell was wrong with Colt, and then the two hour bus ride up to Mansfield. Oh, and then four hours of mindless gibberish from her extended family.

What _was_ wrong with Colt? The question had come to her a few times during the day; she wished she'd snuck a look at his chart. Hospitalised for a week because of bumps and bruises? That wasn't like Gotham General at all, and she knew that from a whole lot of clumsy-adolescent experience. She'd heard from rumours around the hospital that the Joker had thrown Colt - and himself - down a flight of stairs, but surely that meant x-rays and casts and don't-sleep-in-case-you're-concussed leaflets before showing you the door without so much as a pat on the back for surviving.

What the hell had the Joker _done_ to him?

Suddenly, Claire became aware of a quiet, repetitive beeping sound that she recognised instantly as her own answering machine. She sighed, leaning further back in her chair and closing her eyes, wearily, "I'm not here, go away."

The annoying beeping noise continued, and she sighed again. She was really going to have to change her phone number...

She got up, reluctantly, and glanced over the machine. That one red light flashed at her, relentlessly. It wasn't the hospital; the hospital would use her pager. Knowing her luck, it was probably Aunt Karen calling for a 'friendly chat' about whatever the hell was going on with her relationship these days. It was always the same conversation, again and again, and all that ever changed were the names.

Claire closed her eyes, rubbing her forehead with a hand. It was late, and she was exhausted. Whoever it was, she didn't really have to do this now, did she? The caller had only left one message, so it couldn't be too dire, whatever it was.

Claire looked at the flashing red light, sense of duty battling with common sense. Then she shifted in her place, and water squished through her shoes, and common sense won.

* * *

Sam Colt was still awake. They'd offered him sedatives, but he'd declined. Strongly. For a nurse, he wasn't particularly fond of drugs.

Or medi-babble. He'd never realised quite how _annoying_ it was that all medical guys spoke a mix of gibberish and utter bullshit until after he'd been admitted. He made a mental note to avoid using words of more than three syllables with patients from now on.

He should have taken the sedatives. They'd already dosed him up with enough morphine to kill an elephant, and, whilst they helped with the pain, they made him dizzy as fuck. He had no idea what the hell was going on, and didn't like it.

But he supposed it was better than the pain. The pain had been... bad. Worse than that time he'd pissed on an electric fence back in third grade. The surgeons had come through a few hours ago. They'd said a lot about 'paraplegic lumbosacral injuries' and 'Anterior Superior Iliac Spine avulsion fractures', and, suddenly, Colt felt like his six years of med-school had just gone straight out the window, and he was right back at the bottom with the rest of the laity. He'd stayed silent, listening carefully. He knew he only needed time for the old images coming through, months of going over dull, repetitive textbooks, weeks scavenging the internet for the latest theories on oneirophrenia or Fregoli delusions.

He had taken hold of a small-handed weight, like the ones they used to train up an injured muscle. It had been left on the desk by some twat physiotherapist, he guessed. It'd hurt like fuck trying to lean over and grab the damned thing, but he'd got it. Nearly passed out with the morphine whizzing round his head, but he'd got the bugger.

Colt turned it over in his hands, not looking at it. He barely remembered waking up in the hospital, and had no idea at all how he got there. As for _why_ he was here... even _that_ was blurry.

The fucker had caught him by surprise, he knew that. On the way to the damned medical, he'd taken him by surprise. A least he didn't remember the pain. He supposed having your eye nearly torn out by a freak's teeth would probably hurt quite a bit. He reached up a hand to the cut, touching it, cautiously. Fucker missed. He should be happy about that, at least.

He'd managed to convince the surgeons not to tell anyone the _rest_ of the story.

He toyed with the weight, passing it between his hands. They'd given him a fair beating, yeah. Nothing the bastard didn't deserve, of course. But most of the damage was caused by those damned fucking stairs. Of course, no-one believed _that_ story... He _knew_ Warrick should have left well enough alone. The bitch couldn't have done anything to stop them, he knew that, but why the fuck did he have to get the _Joker_ involved? He knew the freak had pissed him off that time he asked whether Arkham's dress-code consisted of 'dressing like a fag', but even _Warrick_ had to realise when he was opening a can of fucking-crazy.

He moved a little, and then grimaced and cursed as pain moved through his head. He'd be needing some more morphine soon. But not for his leg. Not for the 'ASIS avulsion fractures'. Headaches and bruises, that was what the morphine was for.

Because you didn't need morphine for paraplegic lumbosacral injuries.

Sam Colt snarled, and smashed the weight down onto his injured leg with all his strength.

And felt absolutely nothing.


	39. Chapter 39: House Made of Evening Light

**Chapter 39: ****House Made of Evening Light**

_Monday, December 31__st__, 2007.  
__8pm._

Her eyes and the tips of her cheeks stung, and her throat throbbed painfully, but she didn't allow the tears to flow. Instead she clenched her hands on the seat below her until it hurt, and kept her head down - literally. Rebecca thought she'd been sitting here for about ten minutes, during which the four strangers had managed to trash the whole house, starting with the room she was sitting in. She could only guess at what they were looking for - if they actually _were_ looking for anything, of course. They'd moved her from the front room study into the back living room, and all books had been thrown to the floor, all cupboards and cabinets emptied. The last thing she had seen from the study was one of them trying to hack through the password on daddy's laptop. She hoped vehemently they didn't decide to ask her. She had absolutely no idea.

Rebecca winced a little as yet another bookcase was thrown to the floor in frustration, but didn't make a sound. She was amazed that they had so far left the Jesse tree intact. She watched the light on the wall, the one from the lamp that was always on. She watched the light flicker as people moved across it, fade, warp, the shadows drawing larger then smaller on the floor. Her fingers started to tap against her knees. It was hot in the house compared to the bitter cold outside, and she was itching to take off her winter wear. But, when she glanced up at the men still trashing her home, she knew she would never dare.

Suddenly, one approached another, the first well-built with dark brown or black hair, the second slightly leaner, and blonde. They started chattering away again in Italian. Rebecca didn't have an ear for Italian, barely understanding even the basics, and attempted to zone out whilst still keeping a vague eye on what was going on.

That way, she noticed when the man's attention suddenly switched onto her.

The brunette surveyed her for a moment, before glancing back at his friend, "La ragazza?" the other nodded, and he moved his eyes back to her, looking her over, thoughtfully, "Ragazza _graziosa_... You're... _Rebecca_, right?"

She said nothing, but, as he moved closer to her, slowly rose from her chair.

The blonde frowned, and then walked quickly over to her, smashing his hand into a picture on the wall just a tiny distance away from her head, fracturing the glass and causing her to flinch, violently.

"He asked you a question, broad."

"Y-yes, sir." She replied, quickly.

The one nearest her cocked his head, "Rebecca Wells?"

"Yes sir." She said, forever the quick learner.

"Rebecca... _Lauren_?"

He pronounced her name strangely, _Lah-rin_, a slight roll to the 'r'. She nodded, slowly, and then shook her head as she remembered the cracked picture frame on the wall beside her, "Yes."

The man paused for a second, and then smiled, "My name's Romano. My friend here is Ricci, and Delgadil and Girolamo are upstairs." He glanced at the open door behind him at something she couldn't see, and his smile grew. "And you've... already been introduced to Cortez, right?"

Her insides shook at the name, with anger and fear and self-disgust, but she managed a small, muted "Yes."

"Hmm..." he looked her over again before taking her eyes, "Rebecca. This is your house, isn't it?"

She frowned, confused, "Yes."

"So make yourself comfortable," his eyes traced down once more, this time all the way from her head to her boots, "You must be quite... warm."

Rebecca glanced down at herself, hesitantly, before looking back up. He smiled, encouragingly. She paused again, and then nodded, starting with her gloves. All her clothing seemed wet, and she struggled a little with the damp wool before finally managing to pry them off her fingers. She hesitated a second, glancing at the two men who had taken a few steps away to natter once again in Italian, and then moving over to the nearby closet in the hall where she could hang everything up. She stayed by the door, not willing to test how far she could get without retribution, and began to slowly peel off her scarf and her sodden jacket.

She could hear clattering on the stairs behind her. They had a spiral staircase in the kitchen-diner, the room behind her, but she didn't turn to see, instead concentrating on her clothing. She was wearing a warm fake-fur cap that her dad had brought her back from when he went travelling to Europe, something he had called an 'ushanka', and she pulled it off, followed by - with a little more difficulty - her long boots. She was left in her slightly damp sweatpants and her blue polo neck jumper in what seemed like no time at all.

She hesitated by the cupboard, and, for less than a second, let her eyes flicker to the front door.

"Rebecca, honey?"

She paused again, and then left the cupboard, reluctantly, returning slowly down the three stairs to the back room.

* * *

Romano's eyes raked over her, and Rebecca felt her heart start to flutter. She looked down, watched the shadows again. It seemed the other two had given up their search and joined them, Delgadil and... what was it? Garlamo? Girlamo? She couldn't remember. They were both tall, broad across the chest, strong, a tanned white. Both at least a foot taller than her.

They were gangsters. They had to be. But it all seemed so _absurd_, so... _TV_. What were _gangsters_ doing in _Coopersburg_?

"Now," Romano began, smiling at her, "Sweetie. We've got a few questions for you." He glanced at his 'friends', shooting them an almost _annoyed_ look, "Seeing as we apparently can't answer them for _ourselves_..."

"What kind of questions." She asked, quietly.

The man laughed, "Oh, nothing hard, I promise. Just a few little ones, yeah?"

He moved closer to her, until he was less than a yard away. She swallowed, and then nodded, "Okay."

"Good. Now. The reason we _came_ here, honey, is 'cause we wanna _talk_ to someone. _Specifically_... your old man."

"_Dad_?" she asked, automatically, her eyes flicking over the people in front of her, "But why -"

"There's no reason to ask _why_, girl," Ricci rode over, firmly, "You don't need to know. What we need to know is where he is."

Romano nodded, "Right. So where's papa then, honey? We got a coupla words we're gonna share with him. Where's your papa."

She looked at them. Her heart beat hard in her chest. She knew exactly where he was. He'd gone out to grab a couple more bottles - probably Sol - from Links' down the block. It was only a ten minute walk, but he'd probably take the jeep; he was more inclined to pick up crates, and there was no way he'd carry them considering the ice outside. He'd probably bring her home a case of Canada Dry - bitter lemon, of course. She didn't drink.

So she knew where he was. But the question was nowhere near as easy as the Italian had made out. She wouldn't trust these men as far as she could throw them, and, looking at the tall, broad-shouldered men, that probably wasn't very far.

So how else could she answer? "I... I don't know."

One of the others - Delgadil or Garlamo, Garlo, whatever - moved close enough to take hold of a lock of her hair, "Mm, such a beautiful liar..."

She pulled back, quickly, "He's not in."

"I didn't ask where he _wasn't_. Where _is_ he."

"He's not in." she paused, trying to contain her breathing, and then shook her head, desperately, "What do you want. What are you doing here."

Romano ignored her, instead continuing in Italian with the others. Rebecca thought quickly. So she'd diverted _that_ question, but not for long. Dad would be back soon. She had to do something. Her cell was still in her jacket pocket, and the landline was behind _them_. No use calling for help, then. Then she had to get out. The French windows on the wall opposite were useless to her; they had been jammed for years. While they were all talking, perhaps she could make it to the front door, but what then? The neighbours either side were both away for the season, with their families. The police station was only a five minute walk away, and if she ran... No, running through the snow with no shoes, she wouldn't get very far. The Memorial Park, then? That was barely a stone's throw away, and she was fairly confident she could scale the fence if she had to. But no, the forest was right on the other side; it would take her far too long to get there, and, though Romano didn't look like much of a sprinter, she wouldn't care to bet against the others.

No, the best idea would be a house. _Any_ house. Look for a light in the window and hammer like mad on the door. If they got behind her, move on to the next, and the next, until somebody answered, _anybody_, because _somebody_ would call the cops.

She tuned herself back in to the talking again, trying to gauge the best time to run. When the conversation went up a key, and Romano turned the slightest bit towards Ricci to argue some more, she took her chance, immediately making a break for the door.

Rebecca practically sprinted down the hall, ignoring the shouts of surprise behind her, ignoring everything, hitting the door hard to stop herself, not caring. She grabbed the handle, yanking it down, but the door was locked, and her hand snapped towards the hook where the kept the keys, but -

But they were gone.

Rebecca froze, one hand still on the handle. It was locked. It was locked, the door was locked, and she was stuck here. She couldn't get out.

She was stuck here.

* * *

Hands yanked her arms behind her back, but she didn't go without a fight. Rebecca screamed and shouted until another hand was forced over her mouth, and still she struggled, kicking out as the man behind her lifted her up to stop her dragging her feet and pulled her back, away from the door and into the study, then back through the kitchen into the living room. She kicked and fought and struggled, squirming against the grip even as it grew tighter, stamping down on a boot with bare feet, and then jabbing her heel back into a knee. Words that must have been Italian curses streamed out of the man's mouth, and then he abruptly let go of her mouth, instead placing one hand on the side of her head and working an arm under her chin in a headlock, pressing down hard against her throat.

Rebecca stopped fighting, her hands reflexively grabbing hold of the arm stopping her air.

She felt lips close to her ear, air brushing across her cheek, "Are you going to stop fighting now?" Ricci growled, his voice a little strained with the effort of controlling her.

She hesitated, but then he tightened his grip a little, and she nodded, immediately.

That didn't seem to convince him, for he pulled back even further, until she felt something click painfully in her neck and she was panting for air, "Are you gonna be a good girl?"

"Yes," she gasped, tugging at his arm, feverishly, "Yes. I promise."

He paused for a second, and then let her go, throwing her roughly back onto the couch. Rebecca struggled for breath, coughing for a moment, before recoiling back and locking her eyes onto the group of men in front of her.

Romano was laughing. He shot Ricci an amused look, and motioned towards her, "Un'occhiata a lei!"

He nodded, "Abile puttana, quello..."

"Abile ma _cieco_. Non sa nulla."

"Poi abbiamo bisogno Dean."

"Sì, immagino." He smiled again, and then nodded towards the others, "Go fetch."

Rebecca watched as the two interchangeable gangsters left, leaving her with Romano and Ricci. She got slowly to her feet, keeping her eyes on what she supposed was their 'leader', "What do you want."

Romano watched her for a moment, and then nodded to the door, "To the study. And if you try to scream..." he paused, and then smiled, "Well. Just don't."

She nodded, moving slowly. They took her to dad's laptop, and he gestured at it, "The password, do you know it?"

"No." She replied, quietly, eyes down on the shadows across the wooden panelled floor.

He nodded, immediately, as if he had expected the answer, "And what about la combinazione, the... combination, to the safe?"

She frowned, "_Safe_? We don't _have_ a safe."

"The one upstairs."

"We _have no safe_."

He watched her for a moment. Then he nodded, turning back to Ricci, giving a quick order. He glanced back, "You never been in your daddy's room, girl?"

"Of course I haven't."

He cocked an eyebrow, "_Of course_? As far as I know it aint a crime."

"I mean... why would I need to." She clarified, quietly. She looked at the shadows again.

He looked at her for a moment. Then he glanced at the blonde, nodding at her, "Tu parli con lei."

Ricci nodded, "Certo." He watched as Romano turned, leaving the room.

Rebecca heart sped up a notch. This one frightened her more than the others. Reflex made her glance down at his hand. That smashed glass, surely it cut him. Surely he would have bled, there would be forensics... But, no, of course not, he was wearing gloves.

Ricci raised an eyebrow. He was watching her. She glanced up, and then immediately looked back to the shadows, "I..."

"You were looking to see whether I'd cut myself on the glass," he finished, immediately. He paused a second, and then gave a small, wry smile, "Concerned for me, are ya?"

She said nothing.

He smiled. Then he shook his head, and took a few steps closer, "Listen, girl. Ya don't know where he is, do you."

She shook her head, "No."

"And you wouldn't lie to me."

"No."

"'Cause you know that'd be bad, right?"

She moved her eyes to the floor, "Yes, sir."

He smiled again, "Sir..." he reached out a hand, stroking her hair, "I like that." She recoiled back from him but he caught her by the chin, squeezing hard, "Don't flinch from me, girl. There's a lot worse I could do. D'ya understand?"

She closed her eyes, feeling her heart squeeze, feeling tears threaten. "Yes."

He paused for a moment, and then let her go, slowly, "But I don't want it to come to that. But if the others decide you're lying to them, I won't be able to stop them from hurting you. Do you understand?"

"Yes."

"So." He took her chin again, raising her face to his, "For the last time, Rebecca. Where is your father."

She looked at him, "I _don't_... _know_."

He paused for a long time, watching her. Then he shook his head and called in Romano. "Stiamo perdendo tempo."

Romano smiled, "Non proprio. Se lui non arriva, prendiamo la ragazza." He looked her over, and she took half a step back, "Lei è più interessa comunque..."

"What are you saying." She asked, slowly.

He smiled again, "Niente, tesoro. Nothing." Then back to Ricci, "Per ora, aspettare."

"Please." He looked back to her. She hesitated, and then shook her head, "I just... I just want to know what's going on."

Romano paused, looking at her with a small smile. Then he shook his head, "Ricci? Dille."

Ricci nodded, taking her by the arm and leading her firmly back to the living room, "We will wait for your father."

"And... if he doesn't come back?"

He glanced at her, "Then we take you instead."


	40. Chapter 40: What's it Worth?

**Chapter 40: What's it Worth?**

_8.27pm._

"É stato una mezz'ora."

Ricci didn't spare the other man a glance, merely staring down the opposite wall, almost bored, "Lo so."

"Pensi che conosce?"

"No."

"Ma -"

"No." he repeated, firmly, and the man silenced, returning to pacing the carpeted floor.

Rebecca glanced up at them. Romano had ignored the exchange, instead tapping away on a cell, eyes only on the screen. She didn't understand what they were saying, but she gathered they were still wondering where dad was. At the moment, truth be told, so was she. It had been too long for him to have got stuck on the ice, or had a blown tyre, or even if he had had to wait for the damned thing to be towed. So what was wrong? He could have stopped at the pub for a few, but he would have texted or called her cell. He didn't usually leave her for this long, not when he'd told her he'd be back. Of course, he left her for days on end when he was on one of his trips, but she always stayed round Clara's, a friend from school, and he'd never been gone more than a week.

Where the hell _was_ he?

She lowered her head, biting the inside of her lip firmly until the pain took away the water building in her eyes. They still hadn't told her why they wanted to 'talk' to him, but she was certain as soon as they saw dad they'd know they had made a mistake. Now she was almost wishing he would show. She wanted this done, she wanted this over with.

Romano had got to his feet. She looked up at him, sharply, noticing the others doing the same. He moved towards her, and she quickly got to her feet, staggering slightly as she misplaced her footing, regaining it quickly.

She stared at him, while he just observed her, eyes flickering over her with something close to curiosity, "Che cosa sai?" she looked at him, uncertainly. He cocked his head, "Dove si trova? No, non sa nulla. Non è vero?"

"I don't, I don't understand you." she managed, her voice quiet.

"No. Of course you don't." he looked at her for a long time. Then he nodded, and glanced at his men before nodding again at her, "Tenerla ferma."

They immediately stood up, all of them. Rebecca backed off before realising Ricci had gotten behind her, and stopped, immediately. She glanced round, her heart starting to throb in her chest.

Her eyes moved back to Romano, who had moved to a space less than three feet from her, "What... what are you doing?"

He moved closer. Instinctively, she took a few steps back, and collided with someone behind her. The man laughed, and gave her a rough shove back towards him. She stumbled forwards, and Romano caught her before she fell.

"Let go of me." she said, her voice soft with fear.

He laughed, and shifted his grip so he held both of her arms, "Ragazza energica!"

She pulled back, sharply, this time managing to keep her feet as she ripped her arms away from him, causing a few laughs and jeers from the crowd. She looked them over, her heart now fully hammering against her ribcage. There were five of them, including Cortez - wherever the hell he'd got to - and she knew she couldn't defend herself against all of them.

"What... do you want." she said, her voice barely a breath under the words.

"Your father." Romano replied, immediately, effortlessly, "But he's not here, is he? _You_ are."

"My dad... is not whoever you think he is. Please."

He shook his head, dismissively, "Whatever you think about him means nothing to me. I know who we're after. So tell me. Who should I go for?" she just shook her head, and he smiled, "Come on, darling. _You_ choose."

"_What_?" she asked, sceptically.

"_You_ choose." he repeated, eyes fixed on hers, head tilted slightly to one side, "Shall we wait a little longer for daddy, or... shall we make do with what we've got?"

She shook her head, anger sparking inside her, "My father is not a bad man!"

Delgadil leant back against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest, casually, "Well he's a man who abandons his daughter on New Year's Eve, he aint a _great_ man..."

She rounded on him, "He has _not_ abandoned me."

Romano raised an eyebrow, "You see him here, tesoro?"

She hesitated, and then shook her head, "Please. Please just let me go. Please let me go."

"We let you go, we take daddy." Delgadil repeated, deftly, "Easy, no?"

Their leader smiled again, "We were going to choose ourselves, but this way is more interesting. Come on, then. Choose."

She looked between them, back and forth, panic rising, "_Please_."

"_Choose_."

"I _can__'__t_!" she licked her lip once, hesitating, and then shook her head again, "I can't. I can't do it, I _won__'__t_!"

"You won't do it? You won't choose?"

"I won't." she repeated, her voice shaking slightly.

"Hmm..." he took a step closer, and, this time, Rebecca glanced behind her before backing away, "interesting..."

"You can't make me." she said, managing to find that anger again, trying to draw from it.

Romano cocked an eyebrow, "Ragazza _risoluta_..." then he shook his head, looking her over again, "But, you know what, hon? It don't matter. 'Cause we've already got him."

* * *

He must have been on the phone to Cortez. Rebecca realised that now. Cortez was back, and he pulled her father into the room, glancing at him with something close to distaste before manhandling him into a corner. If she was capable of coherent thought, maybe she would have been more interested in his apparent hesitation, but instead she instinctively threw herself towards her father, fighting hard when Ricci immediately snatched her back, "Daddy!" she dug nails in hard and the hands released her, allowing her to half run half _fall_ to her father's side, "Dad?" he didn't reply. He was looking at something behind her, something that, when she glanced over her shoulder, she couldn't pinpoint.

She looked back, hesitantly, "Can... can you hear me?" No response. She grabbed his shoulders, tightened her grip until it must have hurt, "Daddy. Daddy, _look_ at me, _dad_!" Still no reply. She stayed still for a moment, her breathing rough, and then got to her feet, spinning back round to face the men behind her, an anger she hadn't felt in a long time rushing through her hot and strong, "_What __have __you __done __to __him_?"

Romano smiled, "Oh, it's only a mild sedative, don't you worry one second, hon. He's absolutely fine. For now."

She looked at him, her heart painful in her chest. Her anger was quick to fade. "Please, just don't... don't hurt him. Please."

He looked at her for a second, and then a small, dangerous smile moved onto his lips, "What's it worth?"

She shook her head, "I, I don't have any money."

His smirk deepened, "That's not what I'm talkin' about."

She looked at him, frowning, shaking her head, not understanding, "Then... then just tell me _what_... do you _want_ from me."

Romano smiled and moved closer, leaning towards her and whispering in her ear.

Her whole body stiffened. The gangster seemed to like the reaction, for his smile grew and he continued whispering, placing a large, calloused hand on her upper forearm, just below her shoulder. She only knew what _half_ the words _meant_. The others though... the others had a horrifically familiar tang. She knew what they wanted.

When the large man started slipping his hand down from her shoulder, his breathing harsh and hot on her cheek, across her throat and down, sliding to the left, she took a few quick steps back.

Romano laughed, unperturbed, turning to his friends, "Oh... _so_ close."

Rebecca's lungs hurt. She stared at him, forcefully keeping her mouth closed and breathing through her nose, trying to calm the biological reaction down. Her jaw felt tight, and she looked at him for a long time before giving a short, sharp shake of her head, "No. I won't."

He nodded, thoughtfully, "Then daddy dies."

She jerked forwards, Ricci stopping her again with a hard hand on her arm, "_No_! No, you can't, you _can__'__t_, _please_!"

Someone to her right laughed, "Ohh, I love it when they beg."

The others laughed too. Rebecca kept her eyes on Romano. Then she shook her head again, "You... you wouldn't."

He cocked an eyebrow, "And why not?"

She tried so hard to sound like she wasn't clutching at straws, tried so hard to sound indifferent, uncaring, "'Cause... 'cause you need him. You said so yourself, you need him. You wouldn't, wouldn't kill him."

"I would."

"I don't believe you." she replied, managing to keep her voice steady, "You wanted something from him. You wouldn't kill him. You wouldn't."

A small smirk curled around Romano's lips, "Well look who's the psychology dropout. Reverse psychology? You have the balls to even _think_ that would work on us? Ya know, I'm _insulted_." he nodded at Delgadil, "Kill him."

She rushed forwards again, again stopped by that damned Ricci, her act immediately over, "_NO_! No. No. Please. Please."

He looked at her, "You know what I want."

_God spare him, God spare him, Holy Mary, beloved mother of Christ, spare him..._

She closed her eyes. She breathed hard through her nose, raising a hand to press against her forehead, followed by another one. She felt tears threaten and pushed them back, ferociously. She pushed her palms hard into her closed eyes before drawing her hands back again. Her eyes moved to her father, bound and gagged, head back against the wall, pupils wide with whatever they had put into his system.

"I can't." she said, softly, "I can't."

"And why not."

She pulled her hands away from her face, shaking her head, quickly. No. She couldn't tell them. She _wouldn__'__t_ tell them.

But her dad...

"I'm Catholic." She muttered, quietly.

He raised an eyebrow, "Sorry, what was that?"

"I'm _Catholic_." She repeated, slightly louder.

The men immediately laughed, jeering at her. She stayed perfectly still, frozen in her place. Romano shook his head, an unpleasant sneer plastered across his face, "You're gonna wish you never told us that, darlin'."

Ricci stepped towards her and grabbed a lock of her hair, stroking it, "D'you know the rosary?"

She pulled back out of his grip, "Of course I do."

Another to her side laughed, advancing in on her, "Do you go to confession?"

"Yes."

There was someone behind her, moving close so she had nowhere to retreat to, "Do you know Latin?" there were hands on her waist, on her hips, stroking her. She glanced over her shoulder and, oh God, it was him, it was Cortez.

She shook her head, her heart taught in her chest, "I know... bits. Common sayings, a few... prayers... the Hail Mary."

"The Hail Mary? Say it. Recite it out for us."

She hesitated, "What, in _Latin_?"

The hands moved up and down, bringing up a small shiver, "Uh-huh."

She cleared her throat, nervously, "Okay. Ave... Ave Maria... gratia plena... Dominus tecum."

"That's it. Keep going."

"Bene- benedicta tu in mulieribus... et benedictus fructus ventris tui, Iesus. Sancta Maria, Mater Dei... ora pro nobis... norbis peccatoribus... nunc... et in hora mortis nostrae." She closed her eyes for a second, reflexively, "Amen."

"Amen." The man behind her whispered in her ear.

"_Beautiful_," Delgadil breathed, shaking his head, "What does it mean?"

She opened her mouth, but the hands on her constricted, stopping her, wrapping round her stomach so she back in Cortez's embrace. He smiled down at her, and then glanced up at his friend, translating with a fierce passion and a staggering conviction: "Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord _is_ with thee. Blessed art thou among women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, Mother of God, _pray_ for us sinners... now, and at the hour of our death." He looked back down at her, smiling again, "Amen."

"Amen." She echoed, softly.

The man continued watching her, jade green eyes locked onto hers. Then he looked up again, catching Romano's eyes, "She's mine."

The bigger man cocked an eyebrow, apparently amused, "What, Cortez, you never learn ta share?"

"Of course. But she's mine... _first_."

The two men watched each other, Cortez's arms still wrapped around her waist, "What's it worth?"

He shrugged, "Money? If it has to be. Half my wages for the next month." then he seemed to reconsider, watching him a little more closely, "And... two hours with Anya."

"_Anya_?" Romano repeated, sceptically.

"I've seen how you look at her. Two hours. Alone. Whatever you want."

"Don't think she's gonna like that..."

"She's my sister she'll do as I say." then he looked back down at her, fingers brushing lightly over her woollen-clad stomach, "But right now... I need to have a chat with our little Catholic princess."

"The little princess looks like she might have something to say about that," his eyes moved to hers, sparkling with that sick amusement, that twisted curiosity, "Well, tesoro? Have you decided?"

Rebecca closed her eyes again. She already knew what she had to do; looking back on it, she probably had _always_ known.

It was just a matter of whether she _could_.

"Will... will you let us go?" her voice betrayed her, shaking violently as she stumbled with her words, her mouth dry and her stomach cold.

Romano gave a small smile, "Cross my heart."

The tears she had so far managed to force back slipped silently down her cheeks. She knew they were watching her, but didn't have the energy to try to hold them back anymore.

She pushed Cortez's hands off her, slowly, and turned to face him. She glanced at her dad, hesitantly, and then back, "Not in front of him. Please."

He nodded, thoughtfully, looking her over, as if _concerned_ for, as if he goddamned _cared_ about her, "Where's your bedroom."

She made a vague gesture towards the sitting room, not meeting his eyes, "Upstairs."

He nodded again, "Alright, angel. Let's go."

He took her by the arm, leading her a little way away. She went without a fight, but stopped at the door, looking back into the room. Her eyes locked onto dad, and then back to Romano, hesitant again, "Y-you... you won't..."

She couldn't finish it.

But Romano smiled, "You have my word."

She hesitated, one foot over the threshold, the other still wavering on the wooden panelled floor. Then she nodded, slowly, and led the way up the spiral staircase.

* * *

"Who are you?"

The man glanced at her, looking away from the curtains he had been drawing. Then he shook his head, moving over to close the door, making her flinch back and away into the room, "Cortez. That's what these idiots call me, that's what _you__'__ll_ call me. Understood?"

"I won't call you anything." Rebecca replied, immediately, "I _hate_ you."

"Oh, and is hate one of your treasured Catholic virtues, angel?" she hesitated just enough to show him he'd hurt her, and he shook his head, "Tell me, how well do you know Matthew? Matthew chapter five verse forty-three: 'You have heard that it was said 'love your neighbour and hate your enemy', but I tell you: love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, that you may be sons of your Father in heaven.'"

"Yes. The Book decrees that we love the sinner. Not the sin."

But he continued, regardless: "What else does the Book say about hate, angel? The Book preaches forgiveness. Catholics must forever forgive, yes?"

"That's not always -"

"'And then Peter came to Jesus and asked, 'Lord, how many times shall I forgive my brother when he sins against me? Up to seven times?'"

Rebecca shook her head, "'And Jesus answered, 'I tell you, not seven times, but _seventy_-seven times'."

"Exactly."

She paused, and then shook her head again, "The Bible has its limits."

Cortez looked at her, quickly, as if surprised, "_What_ did you say?"

"We are forgiving." She said, quietly, "But we are not naïve."

"Naïve." he repeated, nodding, thoughtfully. He paused, and then shook his head, turning away to observe her room, "Interesting choice of word..."

She frowned at him, but he didn't elaborate. He brushed his fingertips over her bed, and she cringed, reflexively, pushing back against her wall, "What did he do."

He glanced at her again, "Hm?"

"My father, what did he do." she clarified, looking anywhere but at him, "Why are they here."

"That's not important."

She gritted her teeth, "It's important to _me_."

She saw Cortez watching her out of the corner of her eye, but didn't engage his stare. Then he shook his head, "Money. Isn't that always what it's about?"

At this she stared at him, "_Money_?"

He gave a small, sardonic smile, "Leaves a bitter taste on the tongue, doesn't it."

She shook her head, now completely dumbfounded, "But we... we don't have any money. My dad -"

"Isn't who you think he is." he interrupted, firmly.

"I don't believe you." she replied, just as firm, despite the situation, "He's a good man."

He smiled a little, almost sadly, "I'm glad you think so. Hold on to that."

"You're lying." she shook her head, feeling the hysteria settling on her again, her breathing coming sharp and rough, "You're trying to... you're trying to..."

Cortez crossed the room in a few long strides, immediately moving to her, "Shh shh shh..." he put a hand on her cheek, counteracting her sharp jerk back with a simple move of his wrist, "It's okay. It's okay, Rebecca."

She stayed silent, watching the hand on her face, quite cold against the heat of the house. She felt her heart miss a beat again, the sick feeling spread through her stomach.

Cortez was looking at her, his eyes moving over her face. He shook his head and took in a slow breath, his thumb brushing small circles against her temple. "Ohh God." He said on an exhale, running his fingers through her hair, "You are so beautiful."

Her eyes flickered shut for a second, but she managed to open them again, feeling tears once again spark at her already raw eyes.

He watched her, and shook his head again, "Go sit on your bed."

"Why." she asked, immediately, no lack of bitterness to her tone.

He cocked an eyebrow, "Are you really asking me that?"

"Yes." she drew a slow, stabilising breath, and managed to take his eyes, "You're a hired killer, criminal scum, it doesn't seem like you to bother with courtesies."

"Ah." he said, nodding as if he suddenly understood, "You were expecting me to throw you to the floor, or just fuck you against a wall, correct?"

The word made her wince, no matter how hard she tried not to show it. Cortez placed his other hand on the opposite side of her face, lowering himself down a little so he was at her level, looking at her, seriously, "Angel. This is _your_ day. Your first time. I want to make it as special for you as possible. Okay?"

"This isn't my first time, this is _rape_."

He raised that damned eyebrow again, "Is it? Is it _really_? Do you see any chains? Any ropes? Handcuffs? Any _weapons_? Am I forcing you against the wall, yanking your arms behind your back, a hand over your mouth so you can't scream?" she didn't reply, and he shook his head, "You're here of your own choice. If you didn't want this you'd have walked out that door a long time ago. Now. Go sit on your bed."

Several breaths passed. Tears now flowed freely down her face, and she could still feel the slightest edge of anger with the pain. She crossed the few feet of green carpet to her bed, stiffly, and slowly sat down, staying on the edge.

Cortez nodded, as if approving, and then sat down next to her, giving her a surprising amount of space. He turned to face her, and she watched his eyes trace her lips before returning to hers, "Now. We'll take this slow, yeah?"

Her eyes returned to the floor, seeking out the grains in the carpet, the shines of reflection on the shiny computer chair, "Please. Please don't do this."

"It's alright. Look at me. _Look_ at me." he took her chin, lifting her face to his, his touch still so freakishly gentle, so soft, so considerate, "It's going to be alright. Just relax. It's okay."

She closed her eyes, averting her head and allowing the tears to fall freely down her cheeks, feeling his breath brush across her face as he moved closer.

"I'll look after you."

* * *

Memories were blurred after that. Present and past combined, merged, fluctuated. She could remember words -

"_Kiss me back. Come on. Kiss me back."_

Phrases. Disjointed sentences.

"_We'll start with just this. Okay. Relax. Ready? Here we go."_

She couldn't remember any feelings. No emotions, other than fear. She could remember her senses, sometimes. The feel of goosebumps slithering over her flesh, like a spider crawling over her skin.

"_Don't fight it. I'm doing this for you, angel. Just relax, yeah? Put your legs up there. Yeah, that's right. Flexible one, aren't you?"_

Heat. There was heat. The blankets below her were soft. Daddy must have turned the heater on while she was away, for she would never have done such a thing. She told him she didn't feel the cold, and she didn't. But he still worried about her, sometimes.

"_Don't seize up so much. Your muscles are tensed, relax into it. That's right. Just relax. It's okay." _

Her body, bare against the covers. Another, covering hers.

"_You like that. Don't you. I can feel it. Let go. Go with it, angel."_

No. Too far, too far! Come back. Back to the glow of the lamp to her left, on the mantelpiece. Back to the shadows cast by her triptych of the Divinity, the Almighty Father, the Blessed Son, and the Holy Ghost. The mural of the Blessed Virgin Mary. Over to her one single photo beside it, the one of her mother and her when she was a child, just a baby, Alana O'Galvin. The shadows blended and blurred the picture sometimes as he moved.

"_Okay, here we go. Do you want me to go slow, or get it over and done with? Okay. This is gonna hurt a little. Ready?"_

Pain. Yes, there was pain. She could remember that. She could feel pain, and anger, and heat, the heat of the electric fire somewhere in the room - _God, __you__'__re __tight. __I__'__m __sorry, __it__'__ll __only __be __for __a __second, __I_ - the lights on the table to her right, the small diodes of the laptop she must have forgotten to unplug, and the pain - _It__'__s __okay, __breathe __through __it, __c__'__mon __angel, __you __have __to __just_ - the triptych on the mantelpiece, the mural for the Blessed Virgin and the space for her rosary. Where was her rosary? It must have fallen to the floor, under her bed, when - _Lie __back __here. __That__'__s __it. __Stay __calm __now, __yeah?_ - the blanket was pulled back, yes, that must be it, it fell to the floor when the blanket was pulled back, and if she just looked for it she could see it, peeking out from underneath the dark blue covers, she couldn't reach it, she couldn't quite reach it, but when it was over -

"_Good girl. Oh, you're such a good girl. You're beautiful, angel. You really are."_

When it was over she cried silently as he pressed a gentle kiss to her lips. He doted on her. He soothed her, calmed her, cleaned her, attempted to dress her back up in the clothes she had been wearing before realising they were still wet from the snow. He picked her out another pair of pants and a top, a cross-neck vest top, explaining to her that they had turned the thermostat up, and she'd find that it was a lot warmer than it had been when they had first come in.

When she was ready, he took her by the hand, and led her downstairs. He brushed a kiss over the skin underneath her ear, and then passed her over to the others.

"_Hey, tesoro. You have fun?"_

And then it started all over again.


	41. Chapter 41: Reprisals

I'd just like to take a second to thank my reviewers - something which I know I have not been doing enough of recently, which is practically a crime because you're all so amazing. Every time I lack confidence on a chapter, you guys are there to build me up, and every time I think I just can't be bothered to update, you're there again to kick me up the backside. You're all irreplaceable.

**LovelyWeather** - as always, your reviews are absolutely amazing, constructive and so so helpful - and I'm sorry I killed off your fave character :(  
**PurgatoryNymphe** - love you, and love your display pic!  
**Mysovereignsoul** - your constant supply of reviews are much appreciated, thanks so much!  
**GorgeousGalaxy** - been there from the beginning, and still going! Thank you!  
**Katilix** - you're new, but your review was so nice I think I'm actually in love with you. My apologies ;)

And all the rest of you new people, or those I have missed, thanks so much for reading. We're nearing the end... ;)

* * *

**Chapter 41: Reprisals**

_Thursday, December 31st, 2009  
__**8pm**_

Claire Rodriguez had always hated voicemail. She persevered, holding the cell tight to her ear as she weaved through a small crowd of people waiting in the street, managing to hail a taxi while still keeping her grip on both the phone and her bag.

"- so please leave a message and I'll try to get back to you as soon as I can, thanks."

the tone beeped and she shook her out her drenched hair, getting into the back of the taxi with as much grace as she could muster - which, while struggling with three different items, was not very much.

"Andrea - yes, it's late, I know it's late. Gotta talk to you anyway. The train station, please." she said, noticing the cabbie's staring via the front mirror, and then turned straight back to her call, "Sorry, I'm in a cab. Never been good with these damned things. I figure you'll either understand what I mean or call me and ask, either one is good."

The cab began to pull out, and she awkwardly reached a hand to the seatbelt, pulling it over her with one hand, "Listen, I got your message, and... and you're not..." she struggled with clicking the damned thing in, and then, when she'd finally done it, sighed and leant back, trying to get some form of comfort on the old, tattered seats. She turned her mind back to the conversation with difficulty, "You're not making any sense. I know I'm probably not either, but... Sorry, how long is this likely to take?"

The man in front glanced at her in the mirror again, "Me?"

"Yeah you."

"'Bout twenty."

"Good, thanks. But, Andrea - what you said... Are you... Are you _sure_ about what you're saying, 'cause, to be honest, it's _nuts_!" she sighed again, fidgeting uncomfortably with the belt over her chest, well aware that the cabbie was most probably listening to every word she was saying, "Look, I... I can't talk here, I have to see you. Sorry I'm so, so distracted, but... but what you said..." she moved her eyes down to her feet, feeling her heart clench a little before sinking down to join them, "Werner's... Werner's dead, Andy. They found her in Westgate lake, the press said she'd drowned. Are you saying - No." she stopped herself, firmly, shaking her head, "I can't even say it. I can't even _think_ it."

Because it was insane. _That__'__s_ why. Because it was insane.

Claire closed her eyes for a moment. She breathed in and out, slowly, trying to gain her bearings. Then she shook her head again, "Andy, this is the fifth message I've left, where _are_ you? I've been _looking_ for you. I've rang work and they said you're not there, but Keith hasn't seen you either. I'm in a taxi heading for the train station, and when I get my ass on a train I'm heading round to your mom's and you'd _better_ be there. Goodbye."

She hung up the phone without another word, and pushed it deep into her pocket, letting out a low, weary sigh.

"Troubles at home?" the cabbie asked, eyes on the road.

Claire closed her eyes again. It was going to be a long twenty minutes...

* * *

_**9pm**_

Disposing of a dead body had proved easier than Crane had thought. He usually left that sort of thing to a loyal guard, an in-too-deep colleague who knew too much to disobey. For some reason this time he had felt inclined to do the deed himself, and had found it almost impossibly easy. No sane person paid attention in the Narrows, not if they knew what was good for them, and those that didn't were unlikely to be believed. The invisible underclass, the _lumpenproletariat._.. it was nice to see Karl Marx's theory of capitalism was still alive and well. It seemed dumping a large bulky object off Sprang Bridge into the river was a daily occurrence for the very few citizens nearby, and none so much as glanced at him twice. It had been almost a full ten hours, and so far his luck seemed to have held.

Of course, it was less luck and more awareness. Intelligence. He was damned if he was going to get caught by Gotham PD purely because of one foolish choice of body-dump. Everything had gone... surprisingly well.

However... the whole experience had left Scarecrow... _hungry_.

Crane sighed, once again crossing to the door to lock it before returning to his desk, "Crow?"

_Yeah I'm here._

"You got an hour."

_Sure __thing_.

Doctor Crane let his alter ego slip into the driving seat, grimacing slightly as he did.

"Thanks doc."

_Welcome, now what's wrong?_

He felt Scarecrow grin through their face, and shake their head, "You counsellin' me now, doc?"

If he had control of the body, he would have gritted his teeth, _No. __But __you__'__ve __been __very __very __quiet. __And __that__'__s __usually __not __a __good __sign._

"And why's that?"

_Because when you're quiet, it means something's wrong. Tell me what it is._

Crow paused, and then shook their head, moving them over to the office chair where he sat down, "Johnny-boy. There's something we've gotta talk about."

_Don't call me Johnny-boy. And what is it?_

"Yesterday."

Crane had already braced himself for this - of course he was well aware of the insanity of trying to prepare yourself for an argument with your own mind - but he still felt a spark of anger at his ego's tone, _You __know __I __had __to __stop __you. __We __had __to __get __rid __of __the __body. __You __want __us __**caught**__?_

Scarecrow shook his head, impatiently, "I want her to _scream_."

Crane hesitated. _Listen. __I __know __Wells __has __become __a... __particular __obsession __of __yours._

"Obsession?"

_What would **you** call her, then?_

"My next _meal_." the current occupier paused, and then shook his head again, "Our progress is too slow."

_We have to play her this way._

"Bullshit, you know _exactly_ what will crack her."

_That __would __**break **__her._ Crane argued, immediately, knowing exactly what Crow had in mind.

He laughed, harshly, "No objections here."

_There is more data to gather._

He got to his feet, sharply, "Fuck that, you're a _coward_. Just like you couldn't listen to those damned tapes and you couldn't kill Nurse Fuck-Job _or_ sweet little Andrea. You're a _coward_, and _that__'__s_ why I'm here."

_Scarecrow -_

"Don't." he replied, savagely, "Just don't."

There was silence for a while. Crane thought ferociously fast. He had always known his other half was impatient - _reckless,_ even, perhaps - and as sure as hell vicious, but he'd never seen him in a state like this before. Most of the time with the Scarecrow it was violent amusement, sick curiosity, and maybe a tad of anger - but not often. This time it was something else, it was _rage_, and Crane did not like the way this could lead.

_Scarecrow._ He tried again, slowly, _We __have __to __think. __We __have __to __take __this __slowly. __I __mean... __you __want __it __to __last, __don__'__t __you?_

Crow snorted, and shook his head. Then he stood, moving towards a filing cabinet and opening it, deftly, rifling around the objects inside.

Crane paid no notice; the Scarecrow often tampered with things while they spoke, perhaps regressing to the touch of ADHD he had as a child - he certainly knew his attention was difficult to hold. Then he shook his head again, looking up, away, "Plans are in motion, Johnny-boy. And I'm afraid all you're gonna do is get in the way."

_Since __when __did __you __gain __the __capacity __to __**plan**__, __**Scarecrow.**_ He asked, sharply, perhaps a little _too_ sharply.

But Crow just laughed, and then shook his head, darkly, "This needs to happen, Crane. You've put it off for too long."

_What are you saying?_

He didn't reply, instead returning his attention to the small box he'd been toying with, the one locked away in the filing cabinet. He took it out, swiftly, and placed it neatly on their desk, easily punching in a combination and flicking the box open.

Crane watched through his eyes, warily, _Crow... __Is __that...?_

The Scarecrow took out the thin syringe easily, brushing his fingertips over it, "Flunitrazepam. The same stuff you threatened our little lab rat with. Well, technically the alcohol variation is called Darkene, but you didn't tell her that, did you?"

_What __are __you __**doing**__._ Crane pressed, _really_ starting to lose his patience now.

Crow smiled, "Well. Surely a doctor should test his wares every once in a while, right?"

_**What**__?_ He replied, incredulously, absolutely no idea what his damned alter ego was playing at.

He began to draw the liquid into the syringe, slowly and without the experience of a doctor's hands, "Don't worry, it's not much. Just enough to send you to sleep for a little while. My little plan's a controversial one, Johnny-boy, and I'm afraid I'm going to need you out of the way."

_Crow. __**No**__. _The hands shook slightly as Crane fought tooth and nail to regain control, knowing full well that, with the Scarecrow already well-established in his place, it wasn't going to be easy, _Don__'__t __do __this. __You __can__'__t._

"I can." he replied, simply, ignoring the shake as he proceeded to push the plunger down to rid the syringe of air, "And I am."

_You're in **my** body, Scarecrow, you'll have the same damned effect!_

At this he smirked, "Oh I don't think so." he prepped his own arm, finding a vein, "When the doctor's out, I'm in. Isn't that how it works?"

_Scarecrow, I'm **ordering** you._

Crow slid the needle into his flesh, "I don't take orders from you anymore."

He drove the plunger down hard, and Crane felt the traitorous bastard slink swiftly back into is head, deftly hurling him back into the driving seat to feel the full effect of the drug on his own.

Crane's vision greyed, and the walls spun. He tried to move but instead ending up stumbling down into the chair behind him, his legs abandoning him as the strong narcotic pumped its way through his systems.

_I knew you wouldn't be difficult to push._

He felt Scarecrow stir on the edge of his mental refuge, and cursed him for all he was worth, feeling his world slipping into darkness.

_Sorry, Johnny-boy. She's mine._

* * *

_**10pm**_

A train, a bus and another taxi later, Claire was starting to lose patience. Odessa was just as grim as Gotham, despite the change in state, with the snow falling heavily onto already dark grey streets, but with the disconcerting difference of there not being a single person in sight. Sure it was early evening, but Gotham streets were slowly emptying out around this time, whereas this place was as dead as a cemetery.

Claire winced as the first step sent snow to nearly the level of the top of her boots, but ignored it and continued down the path. Andrea's mom and dad were what _Claire__'__s_ mom and dad liked to call 'technologically deficient'. Four generations of the Karris-was-Gardner family had born and grown up in Lynchburg VA in what Andy had described as a 'big wooden shack' with no phones, electricity on a pathetically short meter, and the water being pumped from a large round well out the back. Then Ms Gardner married Mr Karris, and he convinced her to move to something almost close to resembling civilisation - Odessa, Delaware.

They still didn't have a phone line, but Odessa had been Andrea's biggest break. She got to go to a fairly decent elementary school, and got the grades for the Sussex Academy of Arts and Sciences. Her life started here. She went to uni, got a doctorate, married and divorced an utter dick, and moved to Gotham to start work at a very prestigious asylum.

But everything she was was here

Claire looked up at the 1950s Cape Cod house, covered in a thick layer of snow. She walked up to the door and knocked, hesitantly, immediately taking a quick step back for respect. She'd always been a little uneasy around the Karrises. And it was pretty late...

But someone was up and around; she could hear movement inside. Her tongue moved over her teeth, restlessly, and she waited for the light to click on behind the frosted glass window, quite surprised as it never came.

She looked down as she heard the latch snap, and then glanced up again as the door swung open, "Mrs Karris. I'm sorry, I -"

Then she stopped. She looked at her closely. It was dark outside, and in the house, and it was difficult to see beyond her face.

Mrs Karris looked like a wreck. She had red eyes rubbed raw, tear tracks smeared down her face, and was shivering in a heavy shawl, despite the heat of the house that Claire could feel baking her face.

Claire took half a step forwards, concern wiping out her awkwardness, "What's wrong?" the elder woman didn't answer, instead just shaking her head and turning slightly away. Claire followed, putting a hand on her arm that was almost immediately twisted away from, "Ma'am, what's the matter? Ma'am?"

"Rhoda?"

An elderly man shuffled out of a door in the hall, eyes going immediately to Mrs Karris before clocking her at the door.

"Mr Karris?" she asked, hesitantly.

He nodded, slowly, "Oh." He turned back to his wife, placing light hands on her shoulders. She had started crying again, sobbing into his chest, but he ushered her gently back into the living room before returning attention to her again.

"Claire, wasn't it? You... you work with Andrea."

She nodded, "Yes, sir." Her eyes followed Rhoda for a moment, and she forced them to return to his, "I was... hoping she'd be here; she's not answering her cell."

But the old man sighed, heavily, and shook his head, "You haven't heard."

"Heard what?" she asked, uneasily, starting to feel her heart clench slightly in her chest, "Sir? I..."

Then she looked at him. Really looked at him. He had been crying too, but not recently. He had been looking after his wife. Looking after? She was shaking, and had no idea why.

"Mr Karris?" she asked again, her mouth suddenly bone dry.

He didn't reply. His eyes traced the floor, refusing to take her gaze.

She continued staring at him in something close to disbelief. She could feel her heart humming in her chest. She could hear Mrs Karris' continued sobbing from the other room. Slowly, oh so slowly, feeling started to return to her, and she shook her head, letting out a shallow breath.

"Oh God."

* * *

The Scarecrow stretched out his shoulders, carefully. He was right in thinking the drug wouldn't cause the paralytic effect if he wasn't in the driving seat at the time, but it still had a bit of a kick. Nothing he couldn't handle, of course, but it paid to be prepared, as a good doctor had once said.

He looked up at the ceiling. It was still swirling, warping with bright lights before dissolving into mist. But his other senses were fine, and he was sure this one would follow given time.

There was a knock on the door, and he turned to face it, "Come in."

The door opened, and just the man he had been waiting for stepped in, leaning back against the frame, easily.

"Are you ready?" Cortez asked, his voice completely casual, as if they were going to the movie theatre, or something.

Well. It was a movie of a kind. Only a little more hands-on - and _far_ more entertaining.

Scarecrow grinned, and made his way over to the door, "Absolutely."

Little Becky was waiting.


	42. Chapter 42: The Last Straw

Hi! Had to post this one today, despite plans and drinking and such. Don't know about all you people in funny time zones, but here I just about made it :) Truth be told, I wanted this done by New Year last, but I'm being slow apparently - sorry about that. It's a short one, but I like to think one of my best.

Plus - wow. The amount of reviews for that last chapter was amazing! Thanks to all for that, I'm not a review-grabber but it still makes me feel good :)

Happy New Year! VA xxx

* * *

**Chapter 42: The Last Straw**

_**11pm**_

Rebecca sat in a room. She wasn't altogether sure how'd she got here, but she wasn't concerning herself with that at the moment. She didn't recognise her surroundings, but that wasn't anything new. She no longer truly cared.

The hallucinations had been heavy and constant today. Auditory, visual, they were nothing now. She could _feel_ them. She could actually _feel_ them. A doctor had mentioned the name for these sorts of trips before, but she couldn't remember it. Tacit? Talict? She couldn't remember.

She welcomed them. At the moment, make-believe was better than reality. Anything was better than yesterday. Anything was better than seeing what had happened, over and over and over again, like she had last night.

"_I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."  
_"_You know what, sweetheart? I believe you."_

She felt a cold breath on the back of her neck and flinched, recoiling away, "Eve cut it out."

**It's not me.**

"I don't believe you."

**It's _not me_.**

"Shut up."

There was silence for a while; or, at least, silence from _her_. She sighed, settling back against the wall and closing her eyes.

Rebecca knew she needed help. She knew the hallucinations had wracked her mind as much as they could, as much as was physically possible. The hallucinations had always been vivid, and she'd long since stopped trusting every little thing she heard, every little thing she saw, but now it was a whole lot worse. Before she couldn't tell the difference between reality and hallucination, and then she could and fought hard to remember it, but now she remembered the line so well she just didn't care. Now she didn't try to tell between them. It didn't matter anymore.

Yes, she knew she needed help. But she was alone now. Nowell was dead and Werner was dead and she was alone.

The door opened, or she hallucinated that the door opened. She didn't trust anything anymore, least of all herself. Her eyes moved up, disinterestedly. They caught on to the man at the door, and held for a moment. She frowned slightly. A strange expression crossed her face, something like pain and anger and confusion.

_Oh, come on. You're seriously gonna bring this on me **now**?_

She cursed the voices in her head, the hallucinations, and, mostly, this stupid fucking illness, and shook her head, firmly, retreating further into the corner, closing her eyes, resting her forehead down on her knees.

_Breathe, Rebecca. Just breathe._

"Hey, angel."

Her breathing froze in her lungs at his voice, so real, so lifelike, and cursed herself again. She could control herself for this. She _had_ to control herself for this.

She heard footsteps - _God_ this one was lifelike - pausing some way in front of her, "You not going to talk to me, angel?"

"You're a hallucination." She managed, her voice still muffled by her mouth pressed onto her knee, "And a bad one. I don't talk to hallucinations."

**That's not _quite_ true, is it, sweetheart?**

She sent Eve back a vicious curse and ignored her.

"Hallucinations? Ah. Of course." The scraping of a chair along the floor made her wince, recoiling back a little before she caught herself, "Y'know, Crane told me about your little illness. _Paranoid schizophrenia..._ Well well. _That's_ not the Rebecca I knew."

She still didn't speak. Eve was screaming viciously in her head, and Jane was muttering at an almost frantic pace. Neither was helping in the slightest.

"_Rebecca_," he cooed, his voice - soothing, concerned, and not a bit mocking - sending a shiver down her spine. "C'mon, now. Speak to me, hey?"

No. No way. No speaking, not now, not _ever_. Not to you. _Not to you_.

He'd stood up. Her hands reflexively clenched harder, and she started whispering under her breath.

"Genesis, Exodus, Leviticus, Numbers."

"Shh shh shh, you don't need to do that..."

"Deuteronomy, Joshua, Judges, Ruth."

"C'mon, angel. I'm not gonna hurt you, you know that."

She started to shake, begging this hallucination to end, begging it to stop. "1 Kings, 2 Kings, 3 Kings, 4 Kings, 1 Paralipomenon, 2 Paralipomenon, 1 Esdras, 2 Esdras."

"The recitations don't help you. You know that, don't you?"

"Tobias, Judith, Esther, 1 Machabees, 2 Machabees, Job, Psalms."

"Rebecca."

"Proverbs, Ecclesiastes, Canticle of Canticles, Wisdom, Ecclesiasticus -"

A hand fell on her arm.

* * *

Rebecca shot to her feet, immediately pulling back, away, her eyes flicking over the thing in front of her with something close to shock, "How did you...?" he just looked at her, and she shook her head, quickly, "You... you can't touch me. You're not... you're not..."

"Real?" Cortez completed, gently, "I'm afraid I am, angel."

"But you're... you're a _hallucination_!" she said, swiftly, shaking her head and taking a few quick steps away, "You're a _construct_! A construct from my brain, _you cannot touch me_."

He raised an eyebrow. "You so sure about that?"

Rebecca's heart was pounding. She couldn't control it. Voices were screaming and she couldn't keep track, couldn't differentiate, couldn't hear, couldn't _think_. She forced herself to breathe, forced herself to take account of the situation. She'd been thinking about it before, but that was then, and this was now, and she wasn't exactly in an optimum situation for memory tricks.

"Tactile." She said, suddenly, glad she could remember, glad she could think of that one stupid word, "It's tactile."

Cortez cocked his eyebrow again, "Tactile hallucinations?"

She nodded, a little too quickly, "I remember it now. I remember it. You're not real. You're not."

He nodded, mildly, "I'm sure you do. But... deep down... you know I'm not a hallucination, don't you?" she shook her head, mouth dry, breathing rough. He smiled, almost sadly, shaking his head, "That's why you're fighting so hard against it. I mean, there's no other reason, right?"

"This isn't possible."

"You think so?"

"This _isn't possible_."

"I know you don't think that, sweetheart. You _want_ to. But you don't, not really."

"I do."

He sighed, "Listen. You may want to think it's not real. You may want that with all your heart. But, tell me: what are you going to do if it _is_?"

She looked at him for a moment. She hadn't realised she'd started backing away, but she had. She glanced down at her feet before quickly looking back to him. He raised an eyebrow. Rebecca looked at him. She could feel her muscles tense, her heart pound, but she was frozen still, looking at him, because he was right, he couldn't be real but if he was, God if he was...

_Run. **Run**!_

She couldn't stop herself. Rebecca spun on her heel, and instantly bumped straight into a familiar chest.

She backed off, quickly, looking him over, "Crane?" she asked, urgently, her eyes seeking out his.

The doctor grinned, "Not quite."

_Oh, fuck._

She backed away, slowly, seeing him follow her, glancing over her shoulder quickly to be sure Cortez wasn't behind her, wasn't pinning her, wasn't keeping her down. The Scarecrow smirked, looking her over, taking a small hypodermic out of his pocket, "Don't worry, sweetheart. This won't hurt one bit."

She shook her head. She knew exactly what was in that needle. She wasn't stupid. But it couldn't happen, not again. She remembered the feel of it. That first time, the time where she thought she was tripping, and then the next and the next, with the pounding of her heart, her lungs not giving her air, her head spinning, fingers shaking, the pure panic that seized her so strongly it felt unreal, making her just want to run, just to escape, just to get _out_.

Rebecca shook her head, "No. No, don't do this. Please don't do this." His smile grew, and she shook her head again, desperately, "Crane? _Crane_!"

But Scarecrow shook his head, "He's not coming out this time, honey. I made sure of it." He ignored her horrified shock, instead greeting Cortez with a wink, "Heya, Cortez."

Cortez nodded, politely, "Scarecrow." Then he looked at the needle in his hand, and shook his head, "You won't need that."

He raised an eyebrow, "No?"

"No." Then he cocked his head to one side, thoughtfully, "Though, if you wouldn't mind, I'd like to have a look at it afterwards. Could be useful."

"I bet it could."

He paused, and then nodded, a small, wry smile on his lips, "I'll talk to you later when you're a little more... coherent."

"Probably be better." Crow agreed, returning the smile. Then he glanced at her, paused, and looked back, "Shall we?"

* * *

No matter what Cortez thought, Crow knew that this alliance would never last. It had been almost painful to relinquish control of his little lab rat to him, even though he was irritatingly aware of the necessity, and he knew straight away that he wouldn't be allowing himself to feel this way more than was essential.

But this _was_ essential.

Little Becky wasn't faring so well. She was chalk white, shaking her head, slowly, switching rapidly from watching him to watching Cortez. But she was still somehow keeping some semblance of control; he could see she was trying to regulate her breathing, trying to force herself not to back away. He took a step forwards and she immediately held out a hand, her voice a low, unsteady growl, "_Get __**away**__ from me_."

He remembered once thinking of her as an angry kitten, and this image hit him again even more strongly. An angry kitten, backed up against the wall, tiny claws out, ready to fight with all she had, which was inevitably not going to be enough. An angry kitten who thought she was a lion...

It was clear she was triggering, along with the 'normal' fear of Cortez being present, but being a seasoned tripper like herself allowed her to keep her head - or, at least, stop her from starting at every little voice she heard in her head. Eve was probably barking at her right now to pull herself together, whereas Jane would probably have already started screaming.

Cortez stole her attention when he started speaking again, "Angel. Come on. Pull yourself together."

Becky gave a harsh laugh, "You want me to _control_ myself? You want me to stop _panicking_, to stop going to pieces?"

"No," he said, calmly, "I want you to realise what you're really afraid of."

She kept her gaze level, "I'm afraid of you." She moved her gaze, her eyes moving over Scarecrow with something close to disgust, which Crow met with a knowing smirk, "I'm afraid of him."

"You may be afraid of him. But you're not afraid of me."

Rebecca looked at him. "What are you talking about."

"You're not afraid of me." He repeated, green eyes locked onto hers, "You're afraid of what happened."

She laughed again, "That's any different?"

But he shook his head, "Not like that." He looked at her for a moment, in silence.

Scarecrow managed to reign in his impatience. Crane had said the man was a master at this psychological crap. He had to know what he was doing.

It seemed to be working. Rebecca was starting to shake; you could see it clearly in her fingers, even when clenched into fists by her sides, "Then _what_."

He leant closer towards her, seemingly oblivious when she took a sharp back, knocking down a nearby chair, "I know what you're afraid of, angel. What you didn't tell Doctor Crane? What you couldn't tell Werner, or Nowell, or any of your other doctors?" he looked at her, and gave her a small, sad smile, "That night... you liked it. You enjoyed it. You're afraid of the truth."

Becky looked at him for a long time. Then she shook her head, "I know."

Scarecrow glanced at her, surprised. Cortez stayed collected.

She shook her head again, "You tricked me. Psychological bullshit, I was stupid."

"You were human." He corrected, softly.

"So what am I now?"

He paused. "Something different."

* * *

Rebecca stared at him. "_Different_?"

Cortez didn't reply.

Rebecca managed to block out the voices. The hallucinations. She managed to keep them to the back of her mind, and that was the best she could do. She had to stay lucid. She had to stay calm. She had to stay focussed.

She had just opened her mouth when Cortez deftly rode over her: "Did you know he never excommunicated you?"

She stopped, confused, unsettled, "What?"

"Father Thomas. He didn't go through with it. He _said_ he would... but he never did."

"But..." her brain froze. No. _No_. That couldn't be.

"_Don't argue. This is what I want. Please.** Please.**"_

"But he _had_ to. He _had_ to. You're lying."

"_Please, father. Do it."_

Cortez shook his head, "I'm not."

She took half a step forwards, her anger and dread overcoming her fear, "You're _lying_."

"You _know_ I'm not." He echoed her movement, raising a hand to just brush against her cheek, "Angel. I'd _never_ lie to you."

The touch had frozen her again. Every breath she took sent shivers running through her lungs. "You... you said... I'd never see you again, you said..."

He looked at her for a moment, puzzled, and then seemed to get it, and shook his head, almost pityingly, "Ohh. Well that wasn't _lying_, sweetie, that was... that's what I thought was _true_, at the time. I'm sorry, angel."

A tear slipped down her cheek and she forcefully ignored it, "How are you here. How are you here, how did you find me."

"Coopersburg really isn't that far away, angel."

"I'm in a _hospital_." She persisted, "A _secure wing_." She threw Scarecrow a bitter look, taken down somewhat by the obvious fear in her eyes, "The least you could do, Crane, is be _consistent_."

He smirked, "I don't think having an alter ego and being consistent really goes hand-in-hand, do you?"

Cortez was stroking her cheek. She kept her eyes off him, focussing on the wall behind him, on the still open door.

_Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name._

He noticed her gaze, noticed the tightness in her chest, and let go of her cheek, putting his hands gently on her shoulders, "Breathe. _Breathe_, Rebecca. C'mon. Calm yourself down. We don't want you having another panic attack, do we? Hey?"

"Don't touch me." She whispered, memories of that night flooding her more strongly than she'd ever felt them, "Do not touch me."

_Thy kingdom come, thy will be done, in earth as it is in heaven._

His fingers drew patterns on her skin, "I know you're scared. It's okay."

"_That's right. Just relax. It's okay."_

"I'm not gonna hurt you, you know that."

"_It's alright. Look at me. **Look** at me. It's going to be alright. Just relax. It's okay."_

"Oh God please stop. Please stop."

Had she said that out loud? Her pride hoped not. But her pride was a small, shrunken part of her now, buried deep beneath fear, anger and self-loathing.

_Give us this day our daily bread, and forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those that trespass against us._

"You're still so beautiful."

"Isn't she just." Rebecca was vaguely aware that Scarecrow's hands were gripping the wooden table behind him, as if physically restraining himself.

Cortez's touch left her face, but she refused to allow herself to feel relief only to have it crushed again. She breathed quickly and shallowly through her nose, trying to avoid the ferocious urge to close her eyes, the urge to turn and run.

_Lead us not into temptation._

Cortez was moving away, far away, and he was over by the door, and her vision was out of focus, and the walls were spinning, and insects crawled over her skin and she felt like she was going to be sick.

_But deliver us from evil -_

_Evil -_

**Evil -**

Evil.

Cortez gave her a small, soft smile. Then he shut the door behind him.

And she screamed.


	43. Chapter 43: It's a Sin

**Chapter 43: It's a Sin**

_Friday, January 1st, 2010  
__2am._

Doctor Jonathan Crane sat at his desk. He had changed, returning to his usual shirt, sweater and blazer, and had replaced his glasses. He had already run a comb through his hair. His eyes moved to the clock on his computer before he shut it down for the night. Two in the morning. New Years Day. He was sure Cortez was aware of the significance.

And so was Rebecca.

Crane got to his feet, abruptly, toying with sheets on his desk, trying to keep his hands busy. The flunitrazepam hadn't kept him down long, and it had only been the Scarecrow's sheer force of will that had kept him at bay when he had woken, so he had had the 'pleasure' of seeing Cortez's work almost first-hand. He had enough notes stored safely away in his head that he was sure he'd be going over her case for months. And, finally, Scarecrow had managed to break in a patient in the way he wanted: violently, forcefully, and with no thoughts for consequence.

Crane had never directly disapproved of Scarecrow's 'work'. His alter ego had proved useful on many occasions. But Scarecrow was like a wild dog, impulsive and hedonistic, and highly emotional and reactive, more likely to recklessly tear a mind down than to notice the beauty as it crumbled. Crane hardly ever took the same sort of pleasure Scarecrow did out of his work, instead sticking to a sort of scientific satisfaction.

But, he couldn't deny it. After all his work, all his research, her breaking down, her screams, sobs, tearing her down completely in front of him as he stood there and watched...

God, there was nothing like it.

From a psychological point of view, of course.

Crow barked a vicious laugh from inside his head. _Who are you kidding, Crane. I __**am**__ you. I know you enjoyed it. You liked watching me fuck her. You loved hearing her scream, didn't you, Crane._

"Crow..." He warned, his voice a low growl.

_You'd have liked her,_ Scarecrow goaded, his voice full of sick satisfaction, _**Really**__ liked her. God, she was so tight, such a tight little bitch._

"Enough."

_I mean, you'd have thought after all those guys she's gone through she'd be one terrible lay, but, trust me, that was the sweetest little bitch I've ever tasted._

Crane shook his head, disgustedly, "You are _disturbed_."

_Said the pot to the kettle, **'Doctor'** Crane. Don't try to pretend you're any better than me, Johnny-boy. We are **exactly** alike._

He got to his feet, pushing back his chair with what was maybe a little too much force, "Scarecrow. I won't tell you again." there was a moment of blessed silence, and then Crane shook his head, testily, "We are alike in some ways. That is not unexpected, considering our... relationship."

_**Relationship?**_ Crow snarled, sceptically, _We are the __**same**__. I __**am**__ you, Crane. You're an idiot if you believe otherwise._

"No. You're an amalgamation. A trick of my subconscious. You never existed before I first created the fear toxin."

_You know that's not all of it._ _You know that's not all I am._

"_But, you... you look different. As Scarecrow, you look... **physically** **different**."  
_"_Are you **psychoanalysing** me?"  
_"_You shouldn't change. It's not possible. But... but your eyes... they're... they're darker."_

He shook his head, impatiently, "Wells is a 5150 anyway, just like the others. They're _insane_. Of _course_ they see something different. For God's sake, we've never tested it on anyone not under the influence of at least thirty ccs of hallucinogen."

_They see what they see. But you **know** it's more than that._

"I know who I am, Crow."

_**Cortez** saw a difference._

Crane stilled for a moment, then forced his voice to sound indifferent, "_Did_ he."

_And, true, he's not quite 'Scientology-crazy', but you trust his judgement, don't you?_

He barked out a laugh, "I'm not quite sure 'trust' is the right word..."

_But you trusted him enough to include him in your work_, he pointed out, unusually fairly, _**Didn't**__ you._

"What's your point?"

Scarecrow laughed. Then his voice turned dark: _That maybe there is still something around this place that you don't understand... __**doctor**__._

* * *

Claire had never been down to this level of intensive care before. She had never had cause to. It was dark, and the corridors were oddly silent. Claire shivered. She'd never had that much of an active imagination. But she was sure even the sturdiest minds would be a little freaked by a place like this.

Maybe it was all those horror movies she watched as a kid back in San Antonio...

She could hear whispering. It got louder as she walked along the corridor. Goosebumps tickled on her skin. She tried to force the cliché into her head, make herself realise just how ridiculously passé this scene was. It didn't work. She supposed not even Judy Garland herself could de-creep a mental hospital at night.

Room 106. Even the writing on the cold metal door was just what you'd see in a stupid thriller. Nothing like the completely ordinary Calibri they used upstairs. It was two worlds of creepy, this hospital. First the too-chipper bright hallways, then the downstairs prisons, where the facade that the patients wanted to be here was completely stripped away.

Claire swiped a stolen ID card over the door in front of her, and pushed it open, her brain mocking her slightly at the lack of expected squeak.

It was still dark, lights out having gone past hours ago, but she could see a silhouette on the bed. Rebecca. She was reciting something, as usual. Claire had to get a little closer before she realised what it was. Another poem. Prayer, whatever. _Now I lay me down to sleep..._ She'd heard it, of course - it was the one prayer she knew of that had managed to conquer the boundaries of both horror movies and rap music - but she didn't know this version.

_Now as I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord my soul to keep.  
__Lord, be with me throughout the night and keep me safe 'til morning's light.  
__But should I die before I wake, I pray the Lord my soul to take.  
__And should I live for other days, I pray that God will guide my ways._

Why did everything the girl quoted have to be so goddamned creepy?

Claire shook her head. It wasn't her fault, she knew that. It was this... _place_. But she really wasn't helping. She moved forwards, quietly, watching her, concernedly, not quite sure if she was aware of her presence yet. "Rebecca?"

A small rustle announced that the girl had moved, although how wasn't at all discernible, "Now as I lay me down to sleep -"

"Can you hear me?"

"I pray the Lord my soul to keep, Lord, be with me throughout the night -"

"Rebecca, listen." She said, gently, moving cautiously towards her, "Can you hear me?"

"And keep me safe 'til morning's -"

She laid a hand on her arm.

* * *

The girl immediately jerked back, "_DON'T TOUCH ME!_"

"_Rebecca_!" Claire said, startled, retreating back to the wall.

There was a pause. Then the girl was her emotional blank again. "Don't touch me."

She hesitated, and then shook her head, "Shh. Shh, Rebecca, be quiet. Look at me." She didn't move, and Claire took half a step forwards, "_Rebecca_, _look_ at me! _Look_ at me, _**see**_ me." After a long pause, she felt the girl's eyes move up to hers, and nodded, slowly, "I'm not going to touch you, and I'm not going to hurt you. That's a promise."

Rebecca paused. Then she shook her head, pulling back onto her bed, her knees up against her chest, "You shouldn't be here."

Claire hesitated. Then she shook her head, fumbling in a pocket, "Here. Let's get us some light." She managed to find a torch and pulled it out, clicking it on and laying it gently on the bed beside her, "Here we go."

Her eyes moved up to the girl's face, and she managed not to flinch. Rebecca looked... terrible. Her hair was a state, matted and strewn all over her unnaturally pale face. Dark rings under her eyes showed she mustn't have slept properly in weeks, and Rodriguez found herself wishing for her back when she first saw her, because even as a weak, shivering wreck, she at least had looked alive.

Now... her black eyes, once bright with fear and confusion, were dull.

Rebecca seemed to be returning her appraisal. She looked her up and down, twice, before focussing once again on her face, "Who are you?"

She shouldn't have been surprised. "I'm _Claire_, Rebecca. Claire Rodriguez, do you remember me?"

She just looked at her. "It's so cold."

Claire felt her insides sink a little, "God, what have they done to you." The girl didn't reply, and she shook her head, once again digging in her pockets, "Rebecca, look at me. This is a shot of Clozapine. Your medication, Rebecca." She waited until she nodded, and, surprisingly, she let her inject the whole syringe without a fight. Goosebumps raised on the girl's skin as Claire worked her arm to encourage the medicine around her system, but she still didn't object. Claire hesitated, and then nodded, using a hand on her elbow to ease her gently to her feet, "It should clear your head, but it might take some time, so I need you to listen real carefully now, Rebecca, can you do that? Can you do that, Rebecca?" Rebecca nodded, and Claire slipped out of her nurses' jacket, working it onto the girl's shoulders, "Put this on, c'mon."

"What's going on." She asked, her voice dull and unconcerned.

Claire shook her head, "I'm getting you out of here, that's what's going on. C'mon."

Rebecca looked at her. There was no telling what she was absorbing and what was simply bouncing off of her, but as she moved to get the other arm into the coat, Rebecca twisted her hand in of her own accord.

"Good girl. That's it. Now. Let's go. Quietly, now."

Rebecca latched a hand onto her arm, and Claire's pounding heart squeezed a little. Maybe this wasn't going to be as difficult as she feared; at least, not _this_ step.

She quickly swept up the torch, clicking it off and leading the way out of the door, shutting and locking it behind her. The torch then went in her pocket, and her spare hand reached into her belt, pulling out the wrapped package that Antony had left her last night.

Weirdly, Rebecca's eyes immediately zoned onto it, "What's that."

Claire hesitated for a long time. Then she shook her head, sliding the cloth off of the smooth, cold metal, "It's a gun."

"Gun?"

"Yes. A gun. It's a gun." She started moving more quickly, leading her through the maze towards the exit. She knew they didn't have much time.

"A gun." Rebecca said again, her voice vague, her gaze now moving to the walls around them.

Claire grit her teeth, and, for the hundredth time this night, forced herself to remember that this was necessary, "Yes." There was a beat of silence. Claire forced herself again. "It's for you."

Black eyes flickered up to hers, quickly, showing an awareness Claire hadn't expected, "What?"

She stopped them, turning to face her, seriously, "Rebecca, look at me. Focus on me." She waited for a long time, making sure she was utterly convinced of her path. She released a long breath, and shook her head, "This is a gun. I need you to take it. _Listen_ to me, Rebecca, I'm Nurse Claire Rodriguez and I need you to take this gun."

Rebecca looked at her. "Whose is it."

The nurse hesitated. "It's my brother's."

"Your brother's." The smallest amount of light in the corridor reflected off the shiny metal, casting little spots of light across the girl's colourless face. "I don't know how to use a gun."

As a middle-aged nurse, she knew that feeling well. But Antony, fortunately, had a taste for double-action semi-automatics. "That's okay, it's real easy, you just, you just pull this little trigger here, okay? You just... _point_... and pull the trigger. Point and pull the trigger, you can do that."

"You're giving me a gun."

"Yes."

"Why."

She wasn't even sure she knew the answer to that.

_Because I'm mad. I'm mad. I'm completely and utterly mental._

"Because... because you're going to need it."

Rebecca stared at her. Maybe she thought she was as crazy as she was.

Two peas in a fucking crazy pod.

"C'mon." They hadn't got long to go. They half-ran up towards the end of intensive care, Claire dragging Rebecca up the stairs when she faltered, placing a hand on her head, "The Clozapine..."

"Started cutting in?" Claire had given her a hell of a lot less than her normal dose, but she wasn't surprised that it was affecting her so quickly. She probably hadn't taken her real medicine for weeks now.

Since Andrea gave it to her on Christmas Day.

But that was enough of that. She couldn't think of that. Not if she wanted to keep going. Not if she wanted to see this through to the end.

"It's fuzzy." Rebecca muttered, and Claire squeezed her shoulder.

"I know. It'll take a moment. Now listen to me."

They stopped by the exit to the main hospital. Henson was on this station, and she'd seen him leave his post for his usual cigarette break ten minutes ago. It wouldn't be long before he returned.

Claire locked eyes with the suffering patient, "You think you can remember this, hon?"

The girl nodded, slowly, "I can try."

"Good. Now listen. You've gotta get to the cafeteria. You know where that is, don't you? Out this corridor and up the stairs, you're at E-block, where you first stayed; you should know your way from there, right? Use the fire escape - here's the key - and go straight. You should come across three security points, use this card to open them. As soon as you get out of the complex -"

"Claire, I -"

"No, Rebecca, it's time you listen to _me_ now. As soon as you get out of the complex, run for the streets. They wind and twist, they'll have a hard time finding you. Keep running. Don't use main roads, stay out of sight. And don't stop, not for anything, you hear? _Don't stop for __**any**__thing_. Get as far away from this place as you can."

The girl looked at her. Then she shook her head, slowly, "You can't help me."

"I can try." She replied, firmly.

But Rebecca shook her head again, "Crane. He'll kill you. He'll kill you. He killed Andrea and he'll kill you. He killed Andrea. He killed Nurse Werner. He killed Andrea."

Claire felt something tighten in her chest. She shook it off. "I know. I know, Rebecca. That's why I'm doing this."

"He'll kill you."

"I can look after myself, Rebecca." She threaded her pass card onto a lanyard, and then worked that over her head, hesitantly tucking the compact Glock 19 into the inside pocket of the nurses' coat, "I can cause a diversion to keep the guards away from their posts, but it can only last so long. You've got to move fast."

"What sort of diversion."

She shook her head, "Oh, don't ask, Rebecca, you don't want to know. You're better off not knowing, _trust_ me. Now. Can you walk on your own?"

Rebecca hesitantly loosened her grip on her arm, testing her weight, "I... I think so."

"Can you _run_?"

She looked up at her, "Yes. Yes, I can run. I'm good at that. You're shaking."

Claire hadn't realised. She didn't try to curb it down. "Yes. I'm very scared."

"Don't let him touch you. Don't let him get near you. He'll know. He'll come out. Scarecrow. Scarecrow. Scarecrow, Scarecrow... Scarecrow..."

Claire shook her head again, "Rebecca, you've got to hold it together. It won't be long until the Clozapine kicks in properly, _please_, you've gotta keep it together."

"Yes. I'm calm. _Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name. Thy kingdom come, thy will be done_..."

Rodriguez waited until she was done, and then nodded her head, "Amen. Now go."

Rebecca nodded back, using the card around her neck to deftly unlock the door in front of her. Then she paused, and looked back. "Thank you."

Claire nodded, slowly. "Go."

* * *

Her own breathing was excruciatingly loud in her ears. It was difficult to remember. Her memories seemed fuzzy around the edges, despite the fact that she felt more lucid than she had for weeks. Her heartbeat was regular but fast in her chest, but she kept to a gentle speed, walking only slightly swiftly down the abandoned halls.

Man, she was so lost.

_Out the corridor and up the stairs gets you to E-block. Along the corridor, last left, stairs up to first floor and third right, gets you back to Firefly's corner, J-block._

But she had been lost _then_. God, what she would have given for a sense of bloody direction! All these goddamned corridors looked the same!

Forcing herself to look as calm as possible, she took a random right, nodding a greeting to a nameless Arkham guard, who nodded back. People didn't see nurses around here. Clearly they were an overlooked resource. But she was reaching stairs, and she automatically took them, wandering through three separate security gates, each time praying that her card was authorized for the area, each time feeling deep relief as the door clicked open without protest. This was maddening. Suffocating. She had to get out. _She had to get out_.

Rebecca took the next left, and bumped straight into a man at least a head taller than her.

There was a flash of orange and suddenly she was round the corner back against the wall, a gloved hand forced over her eyes.

"I think ya've taken a wrong turn, honey-bee."


	44. Chapter 44: Chaos

OH MY GOD! 100 reviews! That's like... three figures, and everything! O.O Thank you all so much for taking time out to review!

Apologies for the delay. Had loads of those horrid 'assignment' things due in. But Easter holidays soon, so should be able to get these last few chapters out fairly quickly :)

Sorry this one's so long. It's now officially the longest chapter I've ever written ever. Hope it's good though ;)

* * *

**Chapter 44: Chaos**

Rebecca wrenched the hand from her eyes, shaking her head and letting out the sharp breath of air the surprise had prevented her from releasing before, "Joker?"

The Joker grinned, slipping his hands onto her forearms, "You're in maximum security, love. I'm assumin' you were headin' for the exit? Yeah, kinda slipped up a bit there, chick."

She didn't listen to any of it, her eyes moving over him, swiftly, "But you're... you're..."

"_I can cause a diversion to keep the guards away from their posts, but it can only last so long. You've got to move fast."  
_"_What sort of diversion."  
_"_Oh, don't ask, Rebecca, you don't want to know. You're better off not knowing, **trust** me."_

"This... this was it?" she said, weakly, feeling almost lightheaded at the realisation, "This is a damned _distraction_?"

_Oh God, she's completely insane._

She let the Joker out. Dear God, she let the Joker out. She released the Joker.

_To save you._ Jane said, her voice little more than a whisper under the pressure of the Clozapine.

The Joker slipped a hand onto her waist, looking down on her almost seriously, "You know what, puddin'... you're looking remarkably sober today. You get your crazy pills this mornin', or something?"

"She let you loose." She replied, temporarily unable to think of anything else, "I can't believe she would do that."

He cocked an eyebrow, "Oh? You know who, uh, shut down the security? What's their name? I'll have ta thank 'em. _Personally_."

An understanding of the situation she had found herself in slowly started to dawn on her. She keenly felt the wall at her back, and the light pressure of this man's hand on her waist. Her eyes moved down, and he smirked, squeezing a little until she flinched, "You not gonna tell me, Becky? Aww, c'mon. I won't hurt her. I _promise_. Tell me."

"No." She replied, her voice steady, her heart fluttering, "Let me go."

He laughed, and moved closer, "You don't want me ta let you go."

She looked up at him, firmly meeting his dark brown eyes, "Let. Me. Go."

He mocked surprise, "_Ooh_, was that a, uh, _order_?" his hand moved up from her waist to her shoulder, his finger brushing against the white coat, "You know, uh, dumplin'... this little outfit... it sure does suit ya..."

"_Dumpling_?"

He shrugged, nonchalantly, "I'm agoin' Southern today. What d'ya think, dollybaby?"

"I think you should back off." She said again, firm as she could.

His fingers were brushing casually over her cheek, "And why's that?"

She took the gun from her pocket and held it to his chest without a flinch, "Back off."

The Joker, of course, laughed, "Ooh, the kitten's got claws... That's a, uh, little step up from a scalpel, kitten."

She gave the pistol a push, forcing him back only a few inches, "I said back away."

Her grip was firm on the handle, like she had seen before in movies, but there was no kidding herself. She knew how to use the damned thing about as much as the Joker knew how to control himself. At the moment, with her head almost clear and her voices almost gone, nothing scared her more than the thing in her hands, but she could pretend. She could lie.

Joker was looking the gun over, curiously, "Now where'd you get _that_ from, hmmm? Maybe the same pretty lady who shut down the security for us, hmmm?"

"Joker, stay back." _God, please stay back_.

He looked up at her for a moment. Then he nodded, and, astoundingly, took a few steps back.

She hesitated, looking at him. He wasn't smiling. He was incredibly serious. "You know what you got there, baby lamb?" she just looked at him, and he nodded at it, "That's a, uh, semi-automatic, double action compact Glock 19. Nine millimetre auto fixed sights. Ten capacity. Weight about... twenty ounces, am I right, sugar pie?"

"Guns are your specialty." She said, slowly.

But he shook his head, "No. _Dynamite's_ my specialty." He left that hanging for a moment, and then shook his head again, "Think you can fire it?"

Her grip tightened a fraction, "Yes."

He nodded, thoughtfully, "You got a good grip on it? Use two hands if that's easier. You got it?"

"Yes."

"Is it cocked?"

She hesitated, "It... doesn't need cocking."

"That's right. Have you got enough pressure on the trigger?"

"Stop trying to help me kill you." She said, quietly.

The Joker looked at her, cocking an eyebrow, "You don't want help?" he looked her up and down, quickly, "You sure your heart's in this, bunny?"

"I'll do it if I have to." She replied, thickly. She swallowed, trying to calm herself again, trying to bring back up the mask. "I'll do it if I have to." She repeated, her voice a little stiller this time.

He looked at her for a moment, as if trying to figure out whether she was serious or not. Then he nodded, abruptly, "Then let me help you."

She shook her head, "No. You're playing with me."

The smallest shadow of his usual smirk crossed his scarred lips, "I wouldn't _mind_..."

"Why on earth would you want to _help_?"

He cocked an eyebrow, "What, you want me to beg?"

"_Beg for me, Becky. C'mon. Maybe I'll let you go."_

She shuddered and closed her eyes, trying to rid herself of the memory, trying to force it back into that dark corner of her mind that she'd so far managed to keep it caged in. She couldn't think of that now. _She couldn't think of that now_.

"_Don't worry, sweetheart. This won't hurt one bit."_

No. _No_! She couldn't go back there! Not again!

"_Look at me. **Look** at me, Becky. Your little friend's not here, it's just us. Just the two of us."_

"Rebecca."

The Joker's voice broke through the memory. She glanced up at him, a little shaken. He cocked an eyebrow, "You were miles away, sweetiepie. Not polite."

She hesitated. Then she shook her head, firmly, "I'm not playing your game. I'm leaving." She moved towards the next door, gun still aimed firmly towards him. He didn't move from the spot. She yanked on the handle, finding it locked. She hesitated, looking at him, and then released the gun with one hand in order to grab the id card from her neck, swiping it over the sensor. He still didn't move. The electronic lock buzzed loudly as it opened, and she pulled the door towards her with a little more force than intended, and bumped straight into a firm chest.

"Well _here's_ my little punk hooker."

* * *

"Warrick." Rebecca said, quietly. Hell. Could her day get any worse? She backed away quickly, and just as quickly turned the gun onto him. "What are you doing here."

Warrick smirked, his eyes taking in the weapon with more than a hint of amusement, "Why don't we just call it fate, darling. See what happens."

"Stay back." She looked at him for a moment, and then shook her head, "What the hell is a punk hooker?"

"Prison slang." The Joker chimed in, helpfully, "Means an inmate more subject to _ray_-puh. _He'd_ be called a _Jock _er, or, in other terms -"

"An asshole." She completed.

He smirked, "Ex-_act_-ly. I suspect he's had himself a 'running game' goin' on with you for some time, Twitch."

Warrick clocked him with narrowed eyes, "And if it isn't the clown." His eyes moved back to hers, a little less cockily than before, but she wasn't surprised to find that the Joker intimidated him. "You hangin' around with this sorta guy now, freak? Must admit, you've surprised me."

He took a step forwards, and she tightened her grip on the 'glock', "Stay back." She kept it on him for a moment, and then realised with a sick twist in her stomach that she had left her back open to the Joker. She turned slightly to turn the weapon onto him, "_Both_ of you stay _back_!"

The Joker smirked, "Aww, ducky, you don't _trust_ me? I'm _crushed_."

"Shut up, Joker."

"And now I'm _insulted_." He walked casually towards her, ignoring her as she twitched the weapon his way again. God, what was he doing. What was he _doing_?

He looked at her, expectantly, "Well? What ya waitin' for? Shoot 'im."

She stared at him, incredulously, "_What_?"

He shrugged, "Or not. Let 'im kill you. One or the other."

"He..." she shook her head, trying to get back on her feet, the weapon automatically moving back to Warrick, "He... doesn't need to die, he just needs to get out of my way."

"He doesn't need to _die_?" he repeated, sceptically, "What are you _talking_ about, Twitch? I thought you _hated_ this guy." She glanced at him, hesitantly. He shrugged again, "But, if you'd rather if he lived on to do this again to someone else, then that's up to you."

"Don't say that," she ordered, immediately, "Don't _say_ that."

"_Time for your welcoming present, sweetheart. Bit overdue, but that can't be helped."_

She shook her head, ridding the words from her mind. No. She wouldn't let that sway her. He was a bad man. But she was not a killer.

Warrick was watching her with a smirk. Her grip tightened around the pistol, angrily. He really _was_ an idiot. "Warrick. Get out of my way."

He looked at her, and shook his head, still smiling, "You takin' the clown with ya, babe? You think he'll protect you from all the nasty Arkham guards?"

"_Bored? Well, we'll have to do something about that, won't we?"_

"You're wrong, sweetheart." He was moving towards her again, "He'll kill you as soon as you're out of here. Probably _before_."

"_Pretty little freak, aren't you? Wonder how well you fuck."_

"Get out of my way, Warrick." She repeated, quietly firmly ignoring the words spinning round in her head.

He looked at her, and smirked, "No."

"_We'll see who's got a sense of taste, darlin'. By the time **I've** finished with you the only thing that pretty little mouth of yours will know how to **do** is suck, you get me?"_

Rebecca looked at him. Anger burned through her, hotter than she had ever realised it could. But this was insane. She wasn't _hearing_ Eve now. So what was this feeling inside her? What was this hatred? Was that really all hers?

She had to control this. She had to.

She paused, and then shook her head, "Then I'll just go back the way I -"

She turned, but the Joker immediately took a step in front of her.

Rebecca moved the gun to him, quickly, "What are you doing."

He just raised an eyebrow. She tried to move again, but he mirrored her, staying in her way, "Nuh-uh-uh, no way out. No runnin', lil' lady. You face this head on, yeah?"

Her heart was pumping hard. "Joker. Get out of my way."

"You can't go that way and you _know_ you can't," he continued, as if he hadn't heard her, "The security will recognise you. They'll get suspicious. I have no doubt they're trying to put this place in lockdown as we speak. The only reason you're turnin' around is 'cause you're scared of what ya have to do." She just looked at him, so he sighed and shook his head, before nodding at the door behind Warrick, "Listen to me, Twitch. You're lost, but not screwed yet. Past him is the way back up to the top floors. You can skip right past and out the front door leaving Crane _and_ his little friend none the wiser. But you have to get past _him_ first."

"_So. How did I do? I think I did fairly well. Considering how fuckin' gorgeous you looked pinned against that wall... it took everythin' I had not to just screw you right there, and to hell with your pretty little nurse."_

"Joker." She said again, urgently.

"No."

"_Think I showed quite some **restraint**."_

She heard movement behind her and swung back round, quickly, gun back on Warrick, "Stay where you are."

But the Joker was still behind her. She couldn't watch both. A flash of panic shot through her. She glanced back at the one over her shoulder. The most dangerous. The most psychopathic. The one with the highest kill count.

_The antisocial, sociopathic, narcissistic, personality-disorder-on-legs, with **bipolar depression**._

He was watching her, calmly, "_He's in your exit_. You gotta get by somehow, right?"

"Joker." She said again. Her voice was almost a plea, and she hated it.

She flinched as he put his hands on either side of her head, but he only turned her back to look at Warrick again, "Look at him. You realise he _really_ doesn't believe you'll shoot him. You know that, right? That makes him dangerous to you. The only reason he hasn't already reacted is because _I'm_ here." She could see his smirk out of the corner of her eye, and he slowly loosened his hold, moving his hands down to her shoulders, "He's not afraid of _you_, doxy. _No-one_ is. If I wasn't here, he'd have already tackled your fine little ass and this little game would all be over. But you can stop him. You can get out. Or you can stay here." He added, his voice still so calm, still so damned laid-back, "Means little to me, tootsie roll."

"_Tootsie roll_?" she repeated, but that was the last thing on her mind right now. She hesitated, looking at him. Warrick was smirking, and he was so close now, and she hated him, oh God, she hated him, but she couldn't, she couldn't.

"I can't." She managed, shaking her head, slowly, "I can't."

The hands tightened almost soothingly on her shoulders, "Yes you can." She shook her head again, and he moved his head down to hers, so his lips brushed against her ear as he spoke. "Killing is making a choice, Rebecca. You or him. Choose."

Warrick took another step towards her.

And she pulled the trigger.

* * *

Rebecca's eyes squeezed shut at the shot, and stayed closed. She shook her head, quickly.

_Oh God. Oh God._

"Look at him. _Look at him_."

She opened her eyes. Warrick was on the floor, against the wall. Blood poured quickly out of a wound somewhere on his chest, swiftly turning his blue scrubs black.

She tried to look away but the Joker's hands were back on her head again, keeping her still, "Watch."

Rebecca hesitated, looking at him. He was still. She was vaguely aware of a dull ache sparking up in her wrists. The gun felt heavy and she wanted to drop it. But she didn't. She hesitated again, and then moved towards him, slowly.

Warrick twitched.

Rebecca pulled up the gun and pulled the trigger again, once, twice, three times. She could feel blood splatter across her face, and she stumbled back. This time she did drop the gun. Her eyes fixed on the once again still body. She couldn't feel her heart beating.

"Now _that's_ more like it." She didn't look up, and barely felt the Joker put a hand on her arm, "Aww, shh shh shh... It wasn't _that_ bad, was it?"

She shook her head, quickly. "That... that was..."

"Easy."

She looked at him. "_Too_ easy." She paused for a long time. Then she looked back, "Oh God, what have I done?"

"You killed a man."

Her eyes moved back to his, quickly, "Stop it."

"You _murdered_ him."

"Stop it!"

"I wonder if he had children...?"

She turned and pushed her hands up into his chest as if trying to shove him away, angry and scared, "_Stop_ it, just _stop_, I can't - oh God, I can't, I can't -"

But the Joker stopped her there, laughing, by grabbing her wrists, pushing her against the wall and then slamming his lips down onto hers.

* * *

Rebecca's brain seemed to have withered and died. This man was ferocious, vicious, conquering her mouth with his as he kept her forced back against the wall with his body, but his kiss lacked the callousness of the last man to have stolen her lips. He shoved into her again, her whole body feeling the impact, his mouth messy on hers, almost frenzied, a rough hand tangled into her hair and pulling her head up to him, as if trying to force her to respond.

Then, for some reason completely unknown to her, she did.

She responded as she never had to another before. A small, appreciative growl rumbled through the throat of the man in front of her, and memories flickered through her head, Cortez and Romano and Delgadil and Scarecrow, words and memories and hits and pain, but as real pain cut through her as the man in front of her slammed her back into the wall again, she found herself only able to concentrate on him, on this, on this one moment. Her tongue felt abused by the ferocity in his motions, and a sharp pain in her lip made her wince, only after a moment realising he had bitten her, hard.

But he continued kissing her, and she continued kissing him, and it was wrong, and there was blood on her face, and she was running out of time but he wasn't stopping, and _she_ wasn't stopping, and there was no voices, no Eve, no Jane, no Cortez, no Warrick, and the hall was silent, the only noise the blood pumping in her ears.

It wasn't long before Rebecca felt his silent shaking, and pulled away, allowing him to fully burst into laughter. She raised a finger to her lip and glanced at it. He had bitten down so hard he had fully split the skin, and blood leaked gently into her mouth.

Blood still leaked gently onto the floor from Warrick's lifeless body. Her eyes followed it for a while, followed the blood on the floor. She felt once again the burn in her wrists, the echo of the gunshot in her ears, but it was quiet this time. Just a blur.

The Joker had managed to straighten himself up, and looked at her, still smirking, but remarkably serious, "What are you feelin'?"

She moved her eyes back to the floor. "What I'm feeling scares me."

"'Cause you're a coward." He replied, deftly, "Deal with it. What are you feeling."

She looked up at him again. He'd said that before, hadn't he? When was that? With the Clozapine, everything before seemed blurry around the edges - pixelated, almost. Wasn't it the second time? The time with the scalpel? What had he said?

"_I said how did it __**feel**__, Rebecca Wells. It's rude not to __**answer**__, Wells. How did it feel, Rebecca? C'mon, tell me, how'd it feel. How'd that __**feel**__, Rebecca, huh? How'd you feel, __**how did it **_**feel**_?"_

_God_ it had felt good. _So_ good. The smooth metal of the scalpel in her hand. The feel of it so easily slicing through skin and flesh. The blood splatter over the food-painted skyscrapers. But, mostly... the relief. The relief of her anger. Quenching her rage, her hate, her fear, her despair, it had all just... gone. There was no sense of powerlessness. She was not trapped, unable to do anything to help herself, to help her family. She wasn't stuck.

But _this_?

"_Hey, freak. How you doin'?"_

How could she feel about this? This wasn't a cut across the chest, this man was dead.

"_Not so tough **now**, **are** you."_

She'd killed him.

"_I've got something even more fun planned than just fuckin' you, freak."_

But this was Warrick.

"_Not that I **won't**, of course."_

This was Warrick, and she couldn't get that out of her head. This was Warrick, and she had been so angry, _so_ angry, and it hadn't been Eve or the others, it had been _her_, and she had looked at him and felt nothing but hate, and fury, and loathing and disgust.

"_Nuh-uh, freak. I've been patient. I've waited six fucking **weeks** for this. I aint gonna wait any longer."_

"He deserved it." The words surprised her. But they were hers. Her voice was perfectly normal. Perfectly calm. She'd thought her voice would shake. "He deserved it."

**He deserved _more_.**

Eve? Still awake then, if only just. She shook her head, "No. No. He didn't deserve more, he's dead." She took in a slow, deep breath and shook her head again, "Nothing more."

The Joker was watching her, closely, "Not that far, then, are ya?"

She glanced up, "What?"

He just looked at her. Then he smirked, and turned, grabbing her 'glock' from the floor and passing it to her muzzle first, "You better take this, sugar baby. You might need it."

She hesitated. Then she took it from him, meekly, almost instantly recoiling as heat burned through her fingers. She shuffled it in her hands until she held the handle, and shot him a half-hearted glare for not warning her. Then she put the gun back in her pocket again. Her eyes lingered on the dead body in the hall, and she shook her head again, apparently finally remembering what she was doing here. "I have to go."

"Am I ever gonna see you again?"

She glanced at him. The Joker had the knack of making the cliché sound both completely serious and utterly ridiculous.

"I think we both know the answer to that." She said, slowly.

"Mmm, such a shame..." his eyes moved over her, thoroughly, thoughtfully, "I put a lot of work into you..."

She frowned, "Work?"

He smirked, a little darkly, "Never mind, precious. You'll figure it out eventually."

She looked at him for a moment. Then she shook her head, and backed away a few steps. She turned to the door, and glanced back. He was still watching her. She hesitated, "You won't...?"

"Tell the guards about poor little you?" he completed, shrewdly. He laughed, "Mom's the word, Twitch. Have fun."

She hesitated once more. Then nodded, and ran through the door.

* * *

Crane stood still in the corridor. Silence followed him for some time. He turned his head left to right but heard nothing. But something was wrong.

Inevitably, a long, loud bell rang through the corridor. Crane stood still, not flinching at the noise, or when water poured down from the ceiling onto his head.

He'd set off the damned fire alarm.

He shook his already drenched hair out of his eyes and gave a low growl, "Joker."

* * *

Rebecca skidded to a halt in front of the black car, gun raised and pointed at the windshield, "Stop. Don't move." The man inside shifted in his seat and she gestured violently at him with the weapon, "Keep your hands on the wheel!"

The driver shook his head, uneasily, "Hey, hey, cool it, girl, I was just going for the door."

"Not the door. Open the window wider."

He paused and then complied, the window giving a quiet electronic whirr as it slid down into the car's door.

She nodded, satisfied, "If I see you go for a phone or anything else, I'll pull the trigger. Please. I don't want to shoot you."

The nameless man looked up at her, and she could see he was clocking everything, the open nurse's jacket and the tattered clothes beneath, all drenched despite the dry, but cold, day out.

"You aint gonna fire that thing, love." He concluded, slowly.

"Two hours ago I would have believed that too." She replied, quietly, "But... you wouldn't be the first." He looked at her, and she shook her head, desperately, wet hair getting into her eyes and blurring her vision, "I don't wanna hurt you. Please, just... I just need a ride."

"Then why don't you try bloody hitchhiking?" he said, his voice incredulous, "I'd've stopped for ya anyways, what the fuck's with the accessory?"

"I don't trust you." She said, firmly. She hesitated, and then shook her head, sadly. "I don't trust anyone. Please. I just need a ride."

The man looked at her for a very long time. "Where."

Rebecca bit her lip, thinking quickly. She didn't know Gotham. It had been years since she had walked these streets, and even then it was only for a weekend, and no way in hell was her father going to risk taking her to the Narrows. She'd never been in this place before. She couldn't trust the cops. They'd take her back, back to Arkham, back to him. They wouldn't believe her. She had no family, and no friends. She had no-one.

Rebecca's eyes refocused on the man in front of her. And then she gave the name of the one place she knew.

* * *

"Where would she go."

Cortez looked at him. "She'd go somewhere she'd get comfort from, somewhere she knows."

The other man swore, viciously, his alter ego obviously fighting hard for control, "She's never set foot in New Jersey in her life, all the time she's been in here she's been in institutions."

"I didn't mean something she _physically_ recognised." He explained, slowly and calmly, "I meant emotionally."

"Emotionally?" the doctor looked just about ready to throw out the idea when he abruptly stopped pacing, staring at him. "Wait. Wait a second." He seemed to think for a moment, and then shook his head, "Werner said something... something about Gotham... about her coming here before."

"Werner?" he asked, casually.

He didn't look up, "Rebecca's last nurse."

"The one you killed?"

This time he glanced at him, irritably, "_Yes_ the one I killed, now what was it?"

Cortez sat in silence, allowing the doctor to rack his brain. If he had picked up anything from the man's behaviour, it was hard to think with his subconscious continuously rattling the bars of its cage. It amazed him that he had managed to maintain the 'professional doctor' label for so many years without detection. He was going to have to work hard to cover _this_ one up...

Cortez, on the other hand, was a little more... _acceptant_ of this fate. Whatever happened, he had to see his little angel one last time. He had to know what his efforts had shaped. He had to know the ending.

"I know where she is." Crane said, suddenly, stopping in his place once again.

_Good. Here we go._ "Where."

"Gotham Cathedral."


	45. Chapter 45: Nothing to Fear

**Chapter 45: Nothing to Fear**

The cathedral was dark and cold. She was still damp, but drying, with fresh water marking her forehead in the sign of the cross. She'd managed to get her sodden hair back from her face, tying two locks together to keep it back, and bobbed down in a quick bow before the altar before approaching it.

Rebecca stayed still for a moment, respectfully, and then let her eyes flicker around the room. The door to the Vestry was open, and she could hear muffled footsteps from down the stairs. She crossed over, quickly, and shut the door, latching it. She did the same to the door up to the organ room, and looked over her surroundings again.

She made the sign of the cross, already on the way to the next door, "In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit."

She locked it. Returned to the altar, retrieving the rosary from her pocket, winding it round her hand, "Forgive me, father, for I have sinned. My last confession was... I don't know how long ago."

It was cool in the church. And so, so quiet. Her eyes locked onto the image of Christ on the cross, and with a low exhale of breath she fell to her knees. Her eyes lowered to her well-fingered rosary, and started a well engrained practice: "I believe in God, the Father Almighty, Creator of heaven and earth."

She continued, her voice soft and unbroken in the silence, not once correcting herself, not once stumbling on a word, these lines of text as familiar to her as her own heartbeat. Her fingers moved on to the first bead on her rosary, twisting it round, unconsciously, "Our Father, who art in Heaven, hallowed be thy name. Thy Kingdom -"

"_Keep fucking going, slut."_

She squeezed her eyes tighter, trying to banish the inevitable images, "Thy Kingdom come. Thy will be done. On earth as it is in Heaven."

"_You think he hears you, bitch? You really think he gives two shits about you?"_

"Give us this day our daily bread, and forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us."

The sight of Warrick on the floor, wound after wound after wound littering his abdomen, blood covering the pale, pastel blue walls and whitewashed floor.

"_He deserved it. He deserved it."_

"Lead us not into temptation -"

The front door banged hard in the silence as it opened.

Rebecca paused, eyes on her rosary. Then she continued, murmuring "But deliver us from evil. For thine is the Kingdom, and the power and the glory, for ever and ever."

"Amen."

* * *

Rebecca rose to her feet, slowly. "Amen." She turned, looking the doctor in the eyes, "Give thanks to the Lord for He is good."

"For His mercy endures forever." Crane answered, quietly.

"Amen." She looked at him, raising an eyebrow, "A fellow Catholic?"

"Once upon a time."

"Once a Catholic always a Catholic."

Crane cocked his head to one side, "Is that so?" She didn't reply, and he nodded at the rosary in her hands, "The Lord's Prayer. Do you know it in Latin?"

"Pater noster, qui es in caelis, sanctificetur Nomen Tuum."

He nodded again, "Impressive."

"Adveniat Regnum Tuum, fiat voluntas Tua, sicut in caelo, et in terra. Panem nostrum cotidianum da nobis hodie; et dimitte nobis debita nostra, sicut et nos dimittimus debitoribus nostris. Et ne nos inducas in tentationem, sed libera nos a Malo."

"Amen."

"Amen." Her fingers moved to the next bead reflexively, and she shot him a glance, "Would you join me with a Hail Mary?"

"I'm afraid not."

He started towards her, and, instantly, Rebecca raised the pistol to his head.

**Stay back.**

"Stay back."

**Stay away.**

"Stay away."

**Don't come any closer.**

"Don't come any closer."

Crane stayed exactly where he was, eyeing the gun, "Miss Wells. You don't want to do this."

"You have no idea what I want. You have no _idea_ what I want." She looked at him for a long time, and then shook her head, "Which one are you?"

He shrugged, "Does it make a difference?"

"Crane." She said, shrewdly, "Good to see you."

He nodded to her yet again, and then seemed to hesitate. The silence rang between them for some time, and then he finally shook his head, "I didn't know what Scarecrow had planned."

Rebecca gestured at him violently with the weapon, anger boiling in her hot and strong, "Don't do that. _Don't_ do that. Scarecrow is a dog that you have the capacity to contain. But you don't." She looked at him, and then shook her head, slowly, "_You_... you are something different. You are _worse_ than him."

"_Crane. You... called him off."  
_"_Well. **Some**one has to deal with this mess, don't they?"_

A shiver went through her. Vicious, violent thoughts streamed through her head, and she quickly looked down at the rosary in her spare hand, concentrating hard.

_Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee._

Crane's voice broke through her thoughts: "What are you praying?"

She looked back at him, "You'd think a man like you would recognise a rosary when he saw one."

"Yes," he persisted, "But what are you _doing_?"

"Repenting of my sins. All must confess in order to see the gates of our Father's Heaven."

"I thought you needed a priest present."

She gave a small, dry smile, glancing towards the locked Vestry, "A priest _is_ present. Just... unable to comment. I will take what I can get."

"What are you confessing?" the doctor asked, curiously.

She moved her eyes back to his, "That is between me... and Him."

"And it wouldn't be, perhaps... murder?"

She cocked an eyebrow, "Murder?"

"Miss Wells, I know you killed Warrick. I know you killed him, and I know why."

She shook her head, her hand on the beads tightening a little, "Is that right."

"Yes. And I'd like to thank you. You spared me the trouble."

"The _trouble_?" she repeated, sceptically.

"But don't worry." He continued, as if he hadn't heard her, "The Joker's escape gave us quite the body count. No-one will bother checking the calibre of the bullet that killed Warrick. No-one will find out that the bullet came from a _hand_gun... not a rifle." He nodded at the gun in her hands, the one the Joker had called a 'glock', "A handgun like the one you're holding there. Why don't you hand it to me."

"Because it's the only thing keeping you away from me." She replied, simply.

_Glory be to the Father, and to the Son, and to the Holy Spirit. As it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be, world without end. Amen._

Crane smiled slightly, as if acquiescing to her the point, "So what's stopping you?"

She smiled back, "Who says I'm not just biding my time?"

"_I_ do."

* * *

Crane watched as the girl's dark eyes flickered swiftly up to the door behind him, and then widened, "You."

He felt and heard Cortez cross the room to him, "Hello, angel. Are you alright?"

She immediately shook her head, the pistol moving from him to Cortez and then back again, "Get him away."

"Rebecca." Crane started, slowly.

"How _dare_ you stand in this place." She said, ignoring him entirely, anger clear in her eyes, her grip tight on the pistol, "How _dare_ you."

"How dare _you_." Cortez replied, calmly. Rebecca just looked at him, hesitantly, and he shook his head, "If you were pure and upright, surely now He would awake for you and prosper your rightful dwelling place."

Crane barely recognised the words as a biblical quote, and only had his suspicions verified by the anger pouring through the girl's face.

"Who can say, 'I have made my heart clean, I am pure from my sin'?" she replied, viciously, "Even a child is known by his deeds, whether what he does is pure and right."

Cortez smiled, "Well then we are on a level platform, then. Has your Father struck me down? No? Let's see if He strikes _you_ down."

"Cortez." Crane warned, quietly.

The other man shot him a glance, but paid no more heed than that, continuing up towards the altar, towards her, "Rage is one of the seven deadly sins, my dear. Perhaps you should be more wary of your emotions."

"It's not rage it's 'wrath'." She replied, her voice practically glacial, "And the devil can cite scripture for his own purpose."

Cortez nodded, as if approvingly. Then he smiled, "As can you."

"'An evil soul producing holy witness is like a villain with a smiling cheek'."

"William Shakespeare." Crane stated, almost surprised at the recognition, "The Merchant of Venice. Not the bible."

She glanced at him, "I never said I only knew the bible." Then she ignored him again, turning back to Cortez, "Why are you here. What more could you want."

"I'm here to answer your question."

"I'd rather you didn't." She replied through noticeably gritted teeth.

"It's a question you asked back then, angel." He continued, face almost concerned, "Back when we first met. You remember now, don't you?"

"Shut up." Her voice shook. "_Shut_ up."

"You asked me what your dad did." He continued, as if he hadn't heard her, "Why Romano and his lot picked you. Remember?"

"_Stop talking_." Her voice was a low growl, her tight breathing causing it to break slightly, both hands on the pistol now, the rosary swinging in the air as she shook.

"You don't wanna know?" he took another step towards her and Crane watched her finger slip onto the trigger. Cortez seemed to have seen it too, because he stopped, eyes fixed on hers, "He was a _people trafficker_."

* * *

If Rebecca was as shocked as he was, she didn't show it. Instead, she took a ferocious step forwards, shaking her head, "_Liar_!"

Cortez shook his head, "No, angel. I'm not lying."

"You are."

"You know I've never lied to you. Why would I now?"

"Who the fuck knows what goes on in your _sick_ head." Rebecca snarled, and Crane had to agree. He had no idea whether what the man was saying was true, but what he understood even _less_ was why he was _telling_ her.

"I can prove it to you, if you like." He offered, calmly. He brought out a folder from a bag he had slung over his shoulder, one Crane hadn't noticed before, and showed it to her, "All the proof you need's in here."

Rebecca shook her head, scathingly, "If you think I'm letting this go then you are more of an idiot than I thought."

"You don't have to let it go." He threw the folder to the floor near her feet, causing a small flinch. Documents fell out onto the stone paving around her, and he nodded at them, "Here. Have a look for yourself."

But her eyes stayed firmly on his, "No. I won't. Anyone could have written those. Anyone. They could say _anything_." She hesitated, and then drew in a long, slow breath, "Nothing will make me believe you. Nothing."

Cortez shook his head, pityingly, "Angel. Don't make show you the photos. They're... not pleasant."

There was a long silence. Rebecca just looked at him. Then she shook her head, slowly, "My father was _not_ a bad man."

"He was the worst kind of man, Rebecca."

"_You_ are the worst kind of man."

"Really? Who's worse, the man who commits the crimes, or the one who makes it possible to do so in the first place?"

She shook her head, impatiently, "_You_ are." He could finally see the tears start to come in her eyes, having been absent this whole time, and she shook her head again, as if angry at her weakness, "You got inside my head. You tricked me, you used me, and then you abandoned me with your damned voice spiralling through my head."

"So what changed?" he asked, softly, "What got rid of it?"

"Another voice."

"Whose?"

She didn't reply, and Crane looked at her, "Eve's?" she seemed almost startled by his abrupt interruption, but locked her eyes on his without a word. "Jane's?" he tried again.

But she shook her head, slowly, "The Joker's." Crane raised his eyebrows, immediately, expecting anything else, and she shook her head again, "I could kill both of you without fear of consequence. And, the best thing? I wouldn't kill you because I thought you had to die, to stop you from hurting others, for justice. I wouldn't even kill you for revenge. I'd kill you because I wanted to. Because I felt like it." She let out a low breath, closed her eyes for a second, and then opened them again, "That's what the Joker gave me."

"Indifference?" he probed, still slightly taken aback by her answer, "The heart of a killer?"

"Not quite. More... realisation."

"Realisation of what?"

She didn't reply. Scarecrow growled inside of him, and he firmly kept him back. Rebecca had released one hand to reach behind her and pick up a small jar from the altar. He took half a step forwards and she immediately pointed the pistol at him. He stopped, and she looked at him for a moment before one-handedly dipping two fingers into the jar, placing it back, and then anointing the sign of the cross on her forehead.

"Pax huic dómui, et ómnibus habitántibus in ea."

"Peace to this house and all who dwell within." Cortez translated, quietly, "I don't know that one."

She gave something that could have been a smile, "I thought you wouldn't."

"The Joker manipulated you." Crane continued, a little impatiently, "Surely you know that."

"Of course I do," she replied, easily, both hands back on the gun once more, "Just like he manipulates everyone around him. And when he let me go, it wasn't because he liked me, because he thought I deserved to live. Because he couldn't bring himself to kill me. He spared me because he wanted to. Because he _felt_ like it. On a damned _whim_."

"Then why do you trust him?"

She smiled, "I _don't_."

"Then why do you _listen_ to him?" he corrected, firmly.

For the first time, she hesitated, looking almost scared. She shook her head, "I have to. Miserére mei, Deus: secúndum magnam misericordiam tuam. Glora Patri, et Filii, et Spiritui Sancti."

"Have mercy on me, God, according to thy great mercy. Glory be to the Father, and to the Son, and to the Holy Ghost."

She glanced at Cortez, "This would go a lot faster if you stopped translating. And faster still if you stopped talking altogether."

"You want mercy?" he repeated, trying to force her back to the point, "You want forgiveness? What for?"

She looked at him, "For what I've done. For what I'm doing. For what I'm going to do."

"Rebecca." He said, firmly, "You're not a killer."

"Warrick wouldn't agree."

He shook his head, "Self defence."

"Murder." She corrected, calmly, "First degree. I always wanted to kill him... and now I have. The intention was there."

"The Joker told you to pull the trigger."

She smiled again, wryly, "If the Joker told you to jump off a cliff would you do it?"

"Depends how high a cliff." He replied.

She smiled again, "I suppose it does. This cliff isn't very high. Not at all. Actually, it's more like the distance from the sidewalk to the road. And it helps that I needed to cross the road anyway." she laughed, lightly, and shook her head, "And I suck at metaphors. But enough of this. You're trying to distract me."

"Distract you from _what_?"

But she was already reciting again. "Kyrie eléison. Christe eléison. Kyrie eléison."

"Lord have mercy, Christ have mercy, Lord have mercy..."

Her eyes moved to his, as if a little annoyed by his translation, but not having enough anger to try and stop him yet. "Salvam fac ancillam tuam, Deus meus, sperántem in te."

"Save your... handmaiden?" Cortez cocked an eyebrow and smiled, gently, "I didn't think you'd be so politically correct. Even if it is a prayer."

"Mitte mei, Dómine, auxilium de sancto. Et de Sion tuére mei."

"What _is_ this prayer?" he mused, watching her closely, "I don't know it."

"Esto mei, Dómine, turris fortitudinis, a fácie inimíci."

"Does it matter?" Crane asked, a little wearily. He was _well_ used to her recitations by now, and, to him, _none_ of them had ever made much sense.

But the other man still watched her. "Yes."

"Nihil profíciat inimícus in ea. Et filius iniquitátis non apponat nocére mei. Dómine, exáudi oratiónem meam, et clamor meus ad te véniat. Dóminus vobiscum."

"Et cum spiritu tuo."

"_Rebecca_." Crane said, firmly. Her almost-black eyes moved to his, expectantly. "What do you want mercy for."

"Have you ever killed anyone?" she asked by way of an answer, and he gritted his teeth.

"You know I have."

"Not Scarecrow, _you_. Have _you_ ever killed anyone."

He paused for a moment. "Yes."

She nodded, thoughtfully. She looked away. Then she looked back. "Isn't it easy."

"You said you want forgiveness for what you're _going_ to do." He said, slowly, "Are you planning on killing _me_?" she just cocked an eyebrow at him, as if mildly interested in what he thought. He nodded at the man to his right, "_Him_?"

At this she laughed, and he shook his head, "What's funny?"

"_You_ are." She managed to control herself, and looked at him, "Why would I kill him?" Crane just stared at her. Rebecca moved her eyes to Cortez, and smiled, almost _gently_, "I don't need you dead, Cortez. I just need your blood."

And with that, she fired.

* * *

The shot was louder than before. Maybe that was because of the echoes. Rebecca looked around herself, vaguely. This place must have some damned good acoustics...

Cortez was struggling to his feet, leaning heavily against one of the cathedral's many pillars. He held his hand firmly over what looked like a very deep gash across his side, blood trickling out through his fingers.

He was panting a little, and obviously in pain, but when he looked up at her he still managed to smile, "Clever girl."

She nodded, thoughtfully, "I know." She paused for a moment, looking at him, her eyes going down to the blood, the blood dribbling down onto the church floor, like the blood in Arkham, _Warrick's_ blood, the blood that turned the blue scrubs black. She shook her head, "I can't say I didn't enjoy that."

Cortez smiled again, "I wouldn't expect you to."

"Good." She waited a moment, eyes clocking Crane to make sure that he wouldn't go to him - though why he would, she had no idea. Then she shook her head again, "The cops are on their way. The priest will have called them." Her eyes moved back to the blood on the floor, staining the grey stone black, "And now they can find you. They're gonna find you. They're _always_ gonna find you."

"And what about you, Rebecca." Crane took half a step forwards, and she moved her attention to him, "What are the cops gonna do with _you_."

She shrugged, "There's very little they _can_ do. I mean... it's not as if I could answer any of their questions. And, anyway..." she added, softly, "I'll be gone before they get here."

"Is that right?"

"Yes."

Crane was looking at her, "You said you hadn't done anything wrong."

She smiled, mirthlessly, "Apart from the murder, of course..."

"And even _that_ was explainable. So why run? You do believe that you're innocent, don't you?"

"He kept asking me what I was feeling." She replied, quietly. Her eyes fell on the documents on the floor, and she crouched down, picked them up, and then firmly turned them upside-down, hiding them from her sight. She looked at the plain folder for a while, and then shook her head, "As if it _mattered_."

"Did you hear me, Rebecca?"

"How could I have known what I was feeling then? When I didn't know what I do now?"

"_Rebecca_. _Look_ at me." She refocused on him, expectantly, and he shook his head, "I asked _why run_?"

She smiled, "Oh I can hear you, Crane. I can hear you more clearly than I _ever_ have." She took in a deep, stabilising breath, "And just what exactly makes you think I'm going to _run_?"

"But you said -"

"The prayer that you didn't know, Cortez?" she interrupted, easily, looking at the blood-soaked man that was now struggling to stay on his feet, "Let me give you a tip." She moved a few steps backwards until she felt her back hit the altar. She took hold of the basket behind her, taking out a communion wafer and showing it to him, "Penance." She placed the wafer on her tongue, closing her eyes for respect, but opening them quickly for common sense. She took the carafe from behind him and showed it to him, pouring out some of the red liquid into a silver goblet, "Anointing." She took a long sip, and then placed it back on the altar, neatly and reverently, "And Viaticum."

Cortez, who was watching her closely, _finally_ seemed to get it, "The Extreme Unction."

She smiled, and made the sign of the cross, "Ego te absolvo in nomine Patris, et Filiii, et Spiritus Sancti."

Crane looked at him, frowning "What's that?" he didn't reply, instead only shaking his head, and he took half a step towards him, "The Extreme Unction, _what is it_?"

"It's... the Last Rites."

Her pistol rose, past Cortez, past Crane, and rested neatly on the indent made by her temple, cold and smooth and soft on her skin. "May the Lord Jesus Christ protect me and lead me to eternal life."

She vaguely noticed Crane surging towards her, "_No_!"

Too late. "Amen." She breathed, squeezing her eyes shut as tears trickled down her face. Then she pulled the trigger.


	46. Epilogue: Angel

**Epilogue: Angel**

_Friday, January 19__th_.

Claire got to her feet as the male officer walked into the room, "Good afternoon, officer."

Officer Coombs looked at her with no surprise, "Nurse Rodriguez. How can I help you today."

"I've heard you've caught Cortez." She replied, straight to the point, "Is that true?"

He nodded, gravely, "Yes. He was in San Jose. Not at all surprised when we caught up with him, though. Apparently he was expecting us."

He motioned to her, and, as they had many times since she had come to him little more than a fortnight ago, they began to walk. "I'm sure he was. How's the case?"

Coombs shook his head, "I can't -"

"I know, but surely..." she left the sentence unfinished, and locked eyes with him.

He was the first to look away, "It's firm. As good as any I've seen for a long time. His sister's willing to testify, we've got her in now. Anya." He winced a little in disgust, "Apparently he sold her off to his mates once too often."

Claire frowned, "Lovely."

"Quite."

"What'll he get, d'you think?"

He sighed, heavily, "That depends where he ends up."

She glanced at him, managing to remember to watch her footing as they started the stairs, "How d'you mean?"

Coombs seemed more well-versed, taking the steps with ease, eyes still on her face, "Well. If charged here, he'll likely get life. Unfortunately for him, he's got quite a few States calling for his blood. His home state - Maine - has been calling for his extradition for something-or-other he did back there, but so is Pennsylvania, where his first crime against Wells was committed. If he gets charged in Maine, I don't know what he'll get. But if he gets sent to Pennsylvania... there's a fair chance he'll be up against the death penalty."

"For murder?"

"Of the first degree, yes."

This surprised her. She ducked through the door Coombs held open for her, and sat at what had become their usual table outside in the smoking area, "But I thought... I thought he didn't kill Dean Wells. Isn't that what he said?"

He paused to light a cigarette and pass it to her before lighting his own, "Actually, about halfway through those tapes he admits it." He shot her an encouraging smile, "Those tapes have been a godsend, Nurse Rodriguez. Thank you again."

Claire inclined her head at the gratitude, but didn't answer it. She hesitated, looking at the scratches in the old plastic table for a moment before looking up again, "And Crane?"

He glanced at her quickly. Then he must have seen the fire in her eyes, because he sighed, wearily, and dropped some of the challenge from his gaze, "Nurse Rodriguez, there is no sufficient evidence -"

"Like _hell_ is there no sufficient evidence." She replied, firmly.

"Those tapes were plain audio," he argued, as he had argued the last hundred times, as he had told her when she first came to them, soaking and freezing cold, the bag of stolen tapes clutched hard in her hands, "They contained _two_ voices, one of them now confirmed as Emil Cortez. The other was unconfirmed."

"The other was Crane."

He sighed again, "Listen, Nurse, we're not stupid. We've had analysts and voice recognition and specialists flown out from halfway across the damned States working on that thing for days. They all say the same thing: the voice timbre, the intonation, the speech patterns, they all point to the fact that the man speaking on that tape was _not Jonathan Crane_."

"Yes," she replied, stubbornly, knowing what he was going to say but not being able to help herself, "But that was because he wasn't -"

Coombs held out a hand, giving something close to a snarl of frustration, "Yes, I know, I know. The head of an Asylum for the criminally insane is a schizophrenic. With _multiple personality disorder_. And the _other_ personality of his is a sociopath known as the _Scarecrow_."

"It's _true_." She insisted, anger peaking inside of her, "_All_ of it." He just shook his head again, and she got to her feet, frustratedly. Then she paused, and turned back to him, "Those tapes came from his office. I took them from his room, his goddamned _desk_."

"He says he was sent them." The officer intoned, again for the hundredth time, "Anonymously. He hadn't even _listened_ to them yet."

"I got those from his desk, unwrapped and open in his damned _drawer_." She replied, coldly, "I risked my _life_ to go back in there and get them and now you're saying you don't believe me?" he just looked at her, and she turned her back, looking out of the plastic windows, "They're _his_. His and Cortez's."

"Your receptionist Ms Harper confirmed it. As did Harrison Stone, he was in reception when it came in."

Claire spun back to him, furious, "_He's paid Harper off, then_! And, as for Stone, he's got enough on him to send him under for a very long time, of _course_ the idiot's covering for him!"

"Nurse Rodriguez, have you ever heard of something called 'consequential evidence'?" he replied, his voice stern and determined, "Any lawyer worth their pay would rip it to shreds." He looked at her for a moment, and his expression turned compassionate, and even more weary. "It's innocent until proven guilty, Claire. I'm sorry, but you have _nothing_."

"He killed Andrea Nowell." She was amazed how stable her voice is. "He killed her. He murdered her in cold blood."

"Is that right."

"Yes. That _is_ right. And Rebecca told me that he killed her old nurse _Werner_ as _well_."

Coombs shook his head, "A paranoid schizophrenic against a prestigious doctor..."

"Rebecca's dead." Something in her voice made him look at her again. She shook her head, now quite weary too, "I'm all that's left. Look, Weigel may not be prepared to go against him in court, but _I am_."

"Doctor Weigel's right. There's no evidence. None at all."

She shook her head again, "But the message on my _machine_ -"

"Was recorded by a severely troubled woman. An _unbalanced_ woman."

Familiarity died, anger and grief easily swallowing it, "I've heard this all before, _officer_, and I'm telling you, _Andy did not commit suicide_."

"She was depressed."

"She was _scared_!" she protested, viciously, "Not damned _depressed_."

"She was depressed, Claire." He repeated, firmly, "She was depressed and she was scared." He sighed, and his voice turned gentle once again, "What with everything she'd gone through... are you really surprised that she felt trapped?"

"Why don't you try telling that to Keith Nowell, see how it flies then." She returned, coldly.

He didn't reply, and she sighed, turning back to the window again. The day was characteristically miserable.

"_You know why you can't tell anyone, don't you. Because you enjoyed it. First, of course, it was just to save your father, but after that... you enjoyed it, didn't you."  
_"_They killed him."  
_"_I know. And, personally, I think that's terrible after what you gave to them. To go back on their deal... it's bad manners."  
_"_He's dead."  
_"_Yes he is."_

Claire's shudder was nothing to do with the cold. She took a long, hard drag of the cigarette in her hand and then dropped it into the metal ashtray by the door. "I've gotta get out of here."

She heard Coombs get to his feet behind her, "_You_ have to testify in open court. We'll offer you full protection."

"_Protection_?" she repeated, incredulously, spinning round to face him, "You people can't even protect _yourselves_!"

"We assure you, Nurse, the mob -"

"I'm not worried about the damned _mob_! Romano's gang were based in _Italy_, for God's sake, and you'll offer me protection from _them_, _**sure**_. But not from him. Not from Crane." She waved an angry hand at him, "Cortez is going under no matter who speaks at this damned trial. If you're not gonna bring Crane down with him then there's no reason for us to be speaking. Goddamned bureaucrats, the lot of you."

"Claire." A hand on her arm stopped her hasty escape. She paused for a moment, and then turned back to him. Officer Coombs watched her, and then sighed, heavily, "Be careful."

She looked at him for a moment, and then placed her own hand on his arm, squeezing gently, "I will. Just... do me one favour."

"What is it?"

"Remember this. When the time comes... when your faith in Crane fades, even a little... remember this."

Coombs looked at her. "I will, Claire. I promise."

Claire nodded. Then she shook her head, turned, and left.

She didn't look back.

* * *

Rebecca sat on the floor. It was hot. It was loud. Tears poured down her already wet face.

A hand stroked down her hair, soothingly, calmingly, "Who will know? You can only communicate with God through a priest, correct? So don't tell anyone. And, yes, I know, God is omniscient, but if He were watching you now, wouldn't He have saved your father?"

She shook her head, weakly, "'Do... Do not... test the Lord your God... as you did at Massah'."

The hand went a little deeper, taking a lock, playing with it, twisting it around his fingers. "Deuteronomy chapter six verse sixteen, yes, angel, I know. The Catholic's fallback." He sighed, and settled down beside her, ignoring the crackling around them, the fire burning hot and quick. "You can ask for help, but you must wait until He decides He is ready to help you. And, if He decides you unworthy... there is nothing you can do about it. And when you're in a time of _need_... 'do not test the Lord your God as you did at Massah'."

Rebecca choked back a sob, her throat dry and itchy from the smoke, "You... you are the devil."

He leaned over to her, and she caught sight of his emerald eyes one last time, filled with thought, "You think so? No, angel. I'm not the devil. I'm just the forerunner."

"Who _are_ you." She whispered, moving her eyes back to the floor, back to the space her father had been, still and lifeless, before they had taken him away.

She could sense a small smile, "Cortez." He got to his feet and smoothed down the hair on her head, gently, his fingers stroking along her cheek for a second before pulling away, "Sleep tight, angel."

He moved away to the door, to the light, his silhouette definite and glowing around the smoke and flames.

"Sweet dreams."


	47. x Author's Note x

_**x Author's Note x**_

Hey Readers!

I'm so, SO sorry for what I did there. You have no IDEA how long I spent debating those last few chapters. But, whatever way I spun it, it never worked. Rebecca had to die, and that was all that could happen. All I can say is I am prepared for any flames should they come, but you guys were good sports when I killed off Andrea and Werner, right...? /pleasedon'thitme/

And I hope you don't mind me letting Crane free to fight another day. If it helps, just imagine this happening just before Batman Begins. Then Batman kicks his ass and everyone's happy... sort of...

Just to say, I posted these all at the same time because, in the past, I've had people go 'what sort of ending is this? It just STOPS! Rargh, rage and anger!' when... _actually_... the story hasn't finished yet. It's got an epilogue. I _always_ write an epilogue. So I figure if I put them all up at the same time, then no more hate mail! Yay! :)

And, well, that's... almost a _year's_ worth of work finished! I must say, to be honest, I'm relieved. This story has been almost _too_ emotionally straining. At least now I can go back to my angst-free life without thinking about schizophrenia and rape every second of every day.

Thank you ALL for reading, and for leaving such amazing reviews! It really helped me along, and I hope you all enjoyed it (or most of it!)

* * *

Thanks go out to:

* **Batman Begins, The Dark Knight, and the Batman franchise**. What I would have done without those comics/films/tv-shows/games I have _no_ idea.

*** **The **Batman** **wikia **- I _always_ seem to thank the wikia, but it really was, from the bottom of my heart, invaluable.

* I suppose I should thank my **psychology teachers, and lecturers**, not that any of them will read this. Schizophrenia is actually hard to get to grips with, you know. Thank God they didn't cart me off to the psych ward after my continued questions about it XD

* The **two amazing friends**, who Claire and Andrea were based on 3

And, as always, **you readers out there**. Thank you all so much :)

* * *

**Love and kisses,**

**VArwen xxx**

PS - now I'm gunna put in a list of where I got certain quotes from, y'know, so I don't get sued into oblivion. You don't have to read this unless you're interested, or, of course, if you're the sort that wants to sue me into oblivion. Either way, have fun! :)

* * *

**All over quotes:**

'Would you like to see my mask?' - Crane, Batman Begins (BB) - featured in c.14 The Right Touch, and c. 31 Deliver Us From Evil.

Most bible quotes are listed, but 'I lift up my eyes to the hills - where does my help come from? My help comes from the LORD, the Maker of heaven and earth.' (c.22) comes from Psalm 121 (A song of ascents)

'If you were pure and upright, surely now He would awake for you and prosper your rightful dwelling place' (c.45) comes from Job 8:6, and 'Who can say, 'I have made my heart clean, I am pure from my sin'? Even a child is known by his deeds, whether what he does is pure and right' is Proverbs 20:9-11

**In 'Meeting Friends' and 'Smile' (cs 18-19):**

'Karl Franz Joseph Ludwig Hubert Georg Otto Marie von Habsburg-Lothringen' was the last king of Hungary, otherwise known as Charles I, or Blessed Karl.

'Would you like to know how I got my scars?' is an obvious nod to the infamous The Dark Knight (TDK), but the scar stories were all mine, I'm afraid.

'I mean, sanity is really just a one-trick pony, anyway, all you get is one trick - rational thinking. But when you're good and _crazy_... the sky's the limit!' and 'Once again we find that clowning and anarchy don't mix', _are_ actually both quotes from The Tick - clever Rebecca. If you haven't seen it, you should, it's awesome.

**In 'Meeting with a Clown', 'Lasting Scars' and 'Counting Hurdles' (cs 25-27):**

'Get'shuk' is a Mandalorian equivalent of rugby, known for its excessive violence. Yes. I am that much of a geek.

'I'm life and death to her, Doctor Crane.' is a paraphrase from the film 'Copycat', where Daryll Lee Cullum is talking to Doctor Hudson: 'I'm death and life to you, Doc. Death _and_ life.'

John Bowlby was the psychiatrist who created the Attachment Theory, where HJ Schneider did a lot of work on victimology. Nils Bejerot is widely attributed to being the inventor of the term 'Stockholm Syndrome'.

**In 'Straightjackets' and 'Propaganda' (cs 33-34):**

I suppose I sort of paraphrased BB's Al Ghul 'Training is nothing. The will to act is everything.' with my Joker's conversation with Rebecca. I also nabbed the Joker's line 'The only sensible way to live in this world is without rules' (TDK), as I just thought it fitted oh so well.

Also, if anyone's wondering how the Joker knew so much about what happened to Rebecca here, I suggest you re-read the chapter again, closely, and remember that he's a lot cleverer than he looks.

I sort-of kind-of borrowed the Joker's unique-pet-name-each-time thing from the TV series Scrubs, where Dr Cox likes to favour JD with a different female name each time. My work wasn't actually particularly inspired by this, but I just realised how much the two sounded alike after I had finished writing, so I had to give them their due.

**In 'It's a Sin' (c.43):**

A '5150' is someone who is so mentally disturbed that they are deemed a threat to both themselves and others, and so can be contained against their will.

**And, finally, in the Epilogue:**

'You people can't even protect yourselves.' came from Lao, in TDK


End file.
